


The Flowers of Frost

by pastelwitchling



Series: The Flowers of Frost [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Echo - Freeform, F/F, F/M, M/M, Malex, Maribel, Prince!Alex, Sex, Strong Language, Viking AU, Violence, viking!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 99,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelwitchling/pseuds/pastelwitchling
Summary: As a Viking, Michael has a code he lives by. He has hopes of winning wars, marrying one day, and raising children to do the same. Then he meets a prince who never seems to feel the cold, a man no different, and no less wonderful, than a flower that grows in the snow, and everything changes.He shouldn't fall for this stranger, he knows he shouldn't, but something, call it the stars' alignment or a sign of the Norse gods, always seems to bring them back together. And really, when had Michael ever disobeyed the rules of the skies?





	1. Chapter One. A Stranger's Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This story was based on a prompt by [@malex_allthehearteyes](https://malex-allthehearteyes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

Michael closed his eyes as the frosty breeze nipped at his cheeks and nose, and played through the stray curls that had come loose from their knot. The sounds of his friends as they called to lower the sails, their chatter and laughter over their recent conquest, and their complaints at the smell of blood and burnt wood in their clothes and covering their weapons filled the air, along with the wind, the rushing waves against their ship, and the smell of fish.

Michael opened his eyes, and his smile widened when his village came into view. It was good to be home.

He heard someone calling his name and just as he turned to answer, he spotted a small cabin at the very edge of the woods surrounding his village. His brows furrowed. Had that cottage always been there? He was just running through all the names he knew – and he knew them all – trying to remember if there was anyone who was known to live such a while away from the village, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Brother,” Isobel, his sister, said, “I’ve been calling you for ages, did you not hear me?”

“Yes, I did, but…” Michael trailed off, turning to point at the cottage he’d seen. It was simply too strange to be ignored; every Viking was meant to know their homeland like the back of their hand, so to see a cottage that he did not recognize left him a tad unsettled.

However, when Michael pointed, he was surprised to see there was nothing there but more forest. He blinked, and leaned over the edge of the ship, searching. He was _certain_ he had seen a cottage there only a moment ago.

“Have you gone mad? Get down from there!” Isobel yanked him down. For such a scrawny woman with so many woolen cloaks on, Michael couldn’t help but secretly marvel at her strength. Isobel looked over her shoulder in a huff, her blonde braids swaying in the breeze. “Don’t let Maria see you trying to fall overboard, or she will be more than happy to assist.”

“Maria adores me!” Michael said indignantly. Maybe it just had been the sea mist giving him illusions. If there had been anyone living in their forests, they would know. _He_ would know.

“Adoring your face, and adoring _you_ are two very separate things, my dear,” she said. “Never mind that now, where’s that necklace with the purple flower you took amongst your treasures?” She held her hand out. “I would like it.”

Michael crossed his arms, a brow raised. “Oh, you would, would you? Forgive me, sister, but it does not seem to me within your regular fashion at all.”

Isobel looked exasperated. “Oh?”

“Yes, in fact, it seems more like something Maria would wear, does it not?”

Isobel looked unimpressed. “If you have something to say, do say it and be done with it, but be aware that my trusted dagger is still at my belt.”

“I’m the stronger fighter.”

“Perhaps,” she said, smirking, “but I am faster. And I will not hesitate to cut where it hurts the most.” She leaned forward on her boots. “Your curls.”

Michael’s amused smile fell, and he blinked, stepping back. His sister looked like she wanted to laugh, but she cleared her throat, and stretched her hand out closer to him. “Now, necklace.”

Michael glared at her, and ultimately heaved a sigh, pulling a silver chain out of his satchel. The necklace glinted in the pale sunlight, the flower’s petals inside fluttering slightly as if the wind touched them, though Michael knew that wasn’t possible. He set the necklace in his sister’s hand, his eyes on the small dome.

“That gypsy fought awfully hard to protect this,” Michael said, the old woman’s mutterings still echoing in his ears. He wondered when that would stop. “Why do you think that is?”

“Who knows why gypsies do anything,” Isobel said with an elegant shrug of her shoulder that all the world’s weaponry and winter clothes could not disguise.

“Do you think it contains magical properties?”

“If it does, it did very little to help her.”

Michael chuckled, patting his sister’s shoulder as she turned and left him. When the ship finally docked, the clan made their way off to greet the elderly and children who had been waiting for them on the ice. As Michael anchored the ship and kept it tied in place, he watched as others jumped off to greet their offspring and pregnant wives, saw their smiles as they embraced one another, as they took the road to the village, recounting tales of adventure and treasure. They wouldn’t talk about the death they had left behind, Michael knew. _A cruel, yet necessary fate_, he’d been told as a child, and he’d stuck by that. Others needed to fear them, otherwise they would disappear.

Michael shook the thoughts from his head, wondering when he would be able to return from a voyage without those pesky voices irritating him.

“Be sure to keep those tight, brother,” Max said as he guided other men, women, and children onto the ship to gather the treasures on board, his staff at his side. His clothes were stained with red, his beard and hair ruffled and covered with dirt. “I sense a storm coming.”

Michael looked out to the sky, a vibrant blue spotted with white clouds that spoke of nothing but a calm winter, and he asked, “Is it far along?” There was no point in asking him if he was sure, or how he could sense such things. He never answered either.

“Not far enough,” was all Max said before a child with a mop of black hair came running up to him, jumping into his arms.

“Papa!” the boy said. “You’ve returned!”

“Oh,” Max made a show of nearly stumbling off his feet, though Michael knew him enough to know that his brother could be hit by an avalanche and not move an inch. “Careful, Elias, do you wish for this village to lose its chief?”

Elias pounded his small fists against his father’s chest as if beating a drum, his hat coming down to cover his eyes in his eagerness before he pushed it back. “Have you brought me anything?”

“_That’s_ your concern?”

Elias’s face fell, and Michael pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “Is that a no, then?”

Max pursed his lips, humming as if considering the question, then he lifted his son into the air and set him down on his feet. He looked into the line of those descending the ship, and raised his hand, calling someone over.

A big, burly man came to stand in front of Max, a small mahogany box with a golden lock in his hands. Max thanked him, and sent him back onto the ship to retrieve more of the treasure. He groaned as he used his staff to help him kneel in front of his son.

“Now,” he said, “tell me, my boy, what you think of this.”

Max opened the case to reveal a golden pendant. In the center, there was the painted picture of a woman and her child. Michael guessed Max had taken it from some man or perhaps another child, but Elias hardly seemed to notice as he took the pendant with awed eyes.

“Wow,” he whispered, the thin chain leaking through his small fingers as Michael finished and blew a stray curl from his eye. “Is it really mine?”

“Aye, son,” Max said, his smile widening at his child’s wonder, “it is.”

“Look at that!” Elias said excitedly as the sun shined off the gold, making the pendant shimmer. “Is it magical?”

Michael hummed, crouching down beside his brother. “You best hope not, Elias,” he said, and took the necklace from his nephew’s hands, unhooked the chain, and put it around Elias’s neck. The pendant settled against Elias’s chest, and Michael pressed his fingers over it. “Magic is dark, the strongest and most deceptive of Loki’s tricks. It is not for us to play with the abilities of the gods.”

Elias blinked. “But I thought we were the favored few.”

“The gods do favor us,” Max said, adjusting Elias’s hat so that it warmed his ears properly, “but they are still our leaders. We plunder because they allow it. If we were to anger them, they would take our strength away.”

“Then the necklace,” he held up the pendant, looking at the picture with a curious interest, “is it powerless?”

Michael glanced at Max who, seemingly amused, got to his feet and went to help one man who was struggling with a particularly big chest, leaving Michael and Elias alone.

Michael held Elias pendant up with his finger. “Consider this pendant a gift from the gods, not something to challenge their power, but to accept it in its humblest forms.”

His brows furrowed. “A gift from the gods?”

“A spoil of another successful voyage,” he said. “It will protect you from harm. A sign of the gods’ strength.”

Elias smiled, holding up his pendant. “So long as it’s not magic.” He glanced at his father, and his smile widened. “Mama!”

Michael watched as he ran up to the small woman standing beside Max, long black strands of her hair having come loose from her braid and blowing in the wind. She had a large ax over her shoulder, juxtaposed with her big, kind eyes as they settled on her husband. When they moved to her son, her smile widened, she set down her ax on the docks, and lifted her son into her arms.

“I’ve missed you!”

“You didn’t say that to me!” Max protested.

“She’s mama,” Elias said as if Max should’ve known that Liz had special priority.

“Been gone for a bloody fortnight,” Max muttered, shaking his head as he directed the clan members in which cottage to set the treasure. “No one values fathers anymore, it’s absurd.”

Elias, who had been preoccupied with his mother, didn’t seem to hear a word. Michael stood, chuckling. “Of course he values you, brother. You’re the gift-bearer.”

Max smiled. “Does me well to see you in such high spirits, Michael. I do hope you’re as chipper after you’ve gathered the firewood for tonight.”

Michael’s laugh died instantly. “Tonight’s meal? For the entire village?”

“We’ve safely returned!” he exclaimed. “’Tis cause for celebration! And who better to entrust with such a gathering than you?”

“That’s twenty pounds of wood, at least!” Michael said.

“Yes, well, as you so adore reminding everyone,” Max said, and roughly patted Michael’s shoulder, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, “you _are_ the strongest of us.”

It wasn’t that the weight of the wood hurt Michael, but it certainly exhausted his muscles enough to make him irritable. His entire life, he’d had the ability to carry three times his own weight, and everyone had admired him for it. Michael admired it himself, thanking Thor for giving him even the slightest bit of his strength, but Max never treated him any differently for it. If anything, his brother used Michael’s strength to the village’s advantage, sending Michael out for five-man jobs, everything from gathering fish and firewood, to rebuilding cottages destroyed by the storm, to moving fallen trees and boulders from the travel path in the forest.

Michael was often grateful for that as well, to not be admired as the gods would be – for the ancient tales warned his people of the gods’ wrath on account of hubris – and yet, there were certain times that he thought Max simply gave him errands to poke fun at him. Those were the times Michael wished he could throw his brother into a large pile of fish.

He huffed, picking up another piece of wood and tossing it into the net strapped to his back. The ropes were dragging along the forest ground behind him, and while it may have normally been too much for a single man to pull, Michael found it only tolerable. He was going to kill his brother one of these days. Maybe he should bury him in the logs instead.

Michael came up to a thin tree, and with a grunt and a lot of effort, he broke the tree’s roots from the ground with his bare hands. He broke the trunk again at the top, and let the branches and leaves fall aside. He was just about to separate the rest of the trunk to firewood to toss with the others when his eyes caught something at the bottom of the cliff.

The cottage he’d seen earlier had returned to place, there on the icy shores of the lake. Snow and frost covered this small house, though by the look of the smoke leaving the chimney, Michael knew there was someone inside. He frowned, the trunk in his hands forgotten as he stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, trying to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. The chimney’s smoke rose only a short way before it vanished, as if hitting some invisible wall.

What kind of magic was this? Michael wondered. Who was inside? He had passed this cliff a hundred times; that lake’s shore was always covered with trees, too thick to be walked through by any human. There had never been a cottage there before. Had whoever built it managed to do so in less than a fortnight?

The door suddenly opened, and Michael moved behind the trees for cover. He saw someone with dark brown hair walk out, someone whose face Michael couldn’t see clearly from such a height. He didn’t wear thick woolen clothes like anyone Michael knew, but a white pirate shirt with dark brown trousers and black boots. Michael was certain he didn’t know who he was. And Michael knew who _everyone_ was.

He moved a damp curl from his eyes, and dared to take a step closer, trying to catch a proper glimpse of this mysterious man’s face. He’d have to tell Max right away, he’d have to ask Liz if she knew who he was. Surely this stranger couldn’t have been here long without garnering some sort of attention. Michael supposed it was possible that others had found out about him long ago and simply never told him, but they were warriors. Their clan was closed to the world, Michael couldn’t fathom his family ever finding out about an outsider and leaving him be. This man should be punished for trespassing on their ground, for attempting to live so closely to them when _they_ were the favored ones. Maybe he was a Viking who’d chosen to live away from the clan? _No_, Michael thought. His village was a family – anyone that wanted to leave left either by death or banishment, and that was under favorable conditions only.

The man turned to the door, and though the details of his face were still hazy, Michael could tell he was talking to someone inside the cottage; another man. Someone taller suddenly walked out, and he kneeled beside his friend at the edge of the lake, and helped pull a net full of only a few fish. Their conversation was unclear, but Michael had seen enough. There were strangers living on their land, taking their food. There was no need to tell Max, Michael would take care of them himself.

He left the firewood behind, running down the side of the hill, past the trees, toward the cottage at the lake. He had brought no weapon with him, as he so rarely needed one when gathering firewood, and the extra weight would have only slowed him down, but he still had his fists, and he never lost a battle with those.

He half-expected to suddenly run into a path of thick trees, keeping him out, but as he neared, his steps slowing, he saw that the path only opened to him. He had been hunting since before he could run, and he knew how to tread carefully enough that he made no sound. He kept to the shadows, watching as the two men continued fishing out their meal with their backs turned to him.

“You should not be out today,” one of them, the taller, said as he turned to his friend. His eyes were nearly black, like his hair. He wore clothes as thick as Michael’s, all wool. “I saw the Vikings’ ship return. If they were to see you—”

“They will not,” his friend said, working as if no one had said anything at all. His voice, Michael realized, was calm. Either he was unafraid of Michael and his clan, or he was pretending very hard to be. “The barrier will keep us hidden from their eyes.”

So Michael was right. These two really were strangers to the village.

“But I—”

“I wish you would stop worrying, my friend,” the stranger tied the net, and stood, the fish flapping about uselessly against his back as he swung the net over his shoulder. “After all these years, it has done you very little good. I had hoped you would trust me by now.”

“I do!” he stood, then covered his mouth, looking around to make sure no one had heard him. Michael was certain he had been hidden, but he crouched further down anyway, his eyes narrowed. “I do,” he repeated, quieter, “but to stop worrying, that is out of my ability, I’m afraid. You know I have always feared for your life more than I have for mine.”

His friend stopped walking to the cottage and sighed, his shoulders visibly slumped. He turned to face the taller, his profile clearer, and Michael blinked, his brows furrowed. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining the sight before him, and he realized with a start that he wasn’t.

The man looked like a flower, something created out of the fields that grew by the river behind his home. He stood there with a soft smile at his lips, and Michael thoughtlessly took a step forward, overcome with the urge to touch this man, to see if he was real. He realized what he was doing and he blinked himself out of his thoughts, moving back to hide in the shadows.

“And _that_ is what makes _me_ worry,” he said. “I have enough cause to do so without fearing for your anxieties as well, do you not agree?” His friend said nothing, and the flowery stranger huffed a chuckle. “I will protect you, Kyle. I have promised to do so, and I always protect my promise. Instead of showing fear for me,” he fixed the net on his shoulder and returned to the cottage, “why not show a little faith?”

The tall man, _Kyle_, looked over his shoulder at the sea where Michael’s ship had come from a few hours ago, and then back to the cottage where his friend had just entered, and he nodded to himself. He seemed to sigh with the slightest bit of relief, his hand on his chest as if forcing himself to calm down. He headed toward the cottage door, but not before he took another glance at the ocean.

Michael sighed, his arms crossed as he leaned against a thick tree. He didn’t know what to make of these two. He thought he would be able to take them on his own, but there was something odd about the way they spoke, about that talking flower in particular, that he thought maybe he really should tell Max. Max would know what to do.

“So I gather you didn’t get the firewood?” Max asked dryly, his elbow rested on his large wooden table, a cup of water at his side. Liz was sitting to his left, and Isobel to his right with Elias playing beside the lit fire.

Michael’s shoulders slumped. “Were you listening to me at all? There are two men living in the forest!”

“In a _cottage_, did you catch a chill on the open sea?” he said wearily. “In case you’d forgotten, we’ve hunted in those forests since we were children, the trees are too thick for any man to pass through, let alone live in.”

“I know that! That’s why I found it so odd, that’s why I came to tell you!”

“I don’t understand,” Isobel said as she gathered her hair into one thick braid. “Two men, surely someone from the village would’ve noticed them before now.”

“And yet nobody has,” Michael said, and took a seat across Max, the stranger’s face flashing in his mind. He had only seen the man’s profile. He wondered what he looked like closer.

“How would that be possible?”

“It wouldn’t,” Max said. “It isn’t. No man has ever set foot on our land without our knowledge. If you’re right, Michael, and they really are here—”

“They are—”

“Then they are trespassers, and must be made an example of,” he said, and seemed to resolve something in his head before he nodded once, as if agreeing with himself. He looked to his wife. “Liz will accompany you into the woods, and you two will end this quickly and quietly.” Liz nodded and stood.

As she leaned over Elias and kissed him on the head before casually going to grab her ax off the wall, Max stood, fixing his now clean woolen coat over his shoulders. “The village is preparing for the feast tonight, I do not want to raise word of this and upset the festivities. And for the gods’ sakes, gather the firewood, will you?”

“Are you sure it was this way?” Liz asked, and Michael huffed as he raised a branch for her to cross under, only to see that she couldn’t even reach it.

“Aye,” Michael said. “I’m sure.”

“It’s just that I’ve been through these grounds before, and—”

“I know, I know, there’s nothing there,” he sighed. “Believe me, I’m just as baffled as you are. D’you have any idea what an insult it is to discover that the land you’ve walked since birth was inhabited by a face you’d never before seen?”

“Ah,” Liz smirked, glancing at her brother-in-law. “And that’s what concerns you? Your reputation?”

“What else is there to consider?”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?” she said. “These two men who appear out of thin air. What are they doing here? What do they want? How had they remained hidden?”

“You and your stories,” Michael scoffed.

“Well,” she hurried to stay ahead of him, “what of what they look like?”

“What?”

“Their faces,” Liz said. “Surely you’ve seen them. What do they look like?”

Michael thought of the stranger with the dark brown hair and soft smile. “You’ll see for yourself. You can ask them whatever you’d like before you rip their hearts out.”

“I suppose so.”

Michael chuckled, climbing over a large tree root. “You sound so disappointed! We’ve just returned from one adventure, do you crave another already?”

“I do!” Liz said defiantly. “Never to know what’s to happen, it’s exhilarating! Don’t you adore it?”

He considered this. “I’d rather win. If life is nothing but a never-ending adventure, never to know who the victor is and who the fallen, what’s the point?”

Michael came to a stop when he realized Liz was no longer walking. She stood a few feet behind him, watching him with a soft smile that was not so unlike the stranger’s. “Someday, Michael,” she said, “I hope you come to realize that you are more than a victor.”

He tilted his head, smirking. “What can be more than that?”

Liz sighed, her smile indicating that she knew something Michael didn’t, but she eventually just shrugged and kept walking the path. “Oh, you’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Until then,” she came to another stop in front of him, “lead on.”

Michael raised a brow as he held his sword up. “Steady your ax, sister,” he said. “We’re nearly there.”

But when they arrived at the place that Michael had entered earlier, they found that the forest trees had gathered, too thick and too many to be crossed through.

Michael frowned as he tried making his way past one tree only to be blocked by several more. He saw nothing ahead except darkness, nothing to indicate an open path or a clearing at all.

“This isn’t possible,” he muttered.

“Maybe we have gone the wrong way,” Liz suggested, and Michael looked around for another opening in the forest, but the trail closed off to them.

“Come on,” he said, already turning back. “There’s another way to see them.”

He took her to the cliff where he had been gathering wood, and went to the edge to point out the cottage, but when he checked, it was gone, replaced with dark trees. “Odin’s son,” he whispered, his frown deepening, “where is it?”

“Where is what – oh, _here’s_ the firewood!” Liz said, pulling at the large net of forgotten logs. “Thor Almighty,” she pulled, her face turning red with the effort, “how did you drag this around?”

“Come look at this,” he gestured her over, and she resigned the ropes, looking out onto the lake’s empty shore.

“Er – what am I meant to be looking _at_ exactly?”

“The cottage,” Michael said, “it’s vanished!”

“What?” Liz squinted, as if hoping she’d spot what Michael had. “Are you certain?”

“_Aye_, I’m certain,” he said with a deep sigh. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because there’s nothing there, brother,” Liz said, her hand on his arm as she tried to lean forward. “I don’t see anything.”

“That’s impossible,” he said, and Liz tilted her head before she put a hand up to his forehead, then his cheeks.

“No fever,” she said. “Perhaps it’s the exhaustion.”

“I don’t get exhausted,” he said thoughtlessly, his eyes on the empty shore of the lake.

“First time for everything.”

“I haven’t gone mad,” Michael defended, a heat rising up his neck at the look his sister was giving him. He suddenly felt very foolish. He was certain beyond a doubt that the stranger he’d seen was real – unless he’d hit his head while gathering wood and dreamt everything – but how could he insist when evidence showed otherwise?

“I know what I saw,” he ended up saying weakly, and Liz considered him before turning to the lake’s shore.

“You said there were two men,” she said.

“Kyle,” Michael said, the name unsettling on his tongue. He had never bothered with the names of those outside his village. They had never mattered.

“And the other?” Liz asked. “What was his name?”

Michael thought of him. _Instead of showing fear for me, why not show a little faith?_ “I do not know,” he said, the stranger’s words still running around in his head. _What an odd man,_ Michael thought.

“Perhaps that is why we cannot find them,” Liz said. “They are a mystery to you, to all of us. Perhaps you are meant to solve the mystery before we can end the story.”

Michael raised a brow. “You think I am meant to know the name of this stranger before I cut him down? He is a man meant to fall, nothing more.”

She shrugged. “The gods have hidden them from us, Michael, and they know more than any mortal can what we had intended to do. They may be men, but for today, at least, they are favored.”

With a pat to his shoulder, she turned back to the road they had begun walking, and with a final glance at the lake’s shore, Michael heaved a sigh and turned to the large net full of firewood, pulling it with less difficulty than Liz had, yet a strange weight in his chest that he could not explain.

*

“Ah – _ah_!” Alex winced as he dug the tip of Kyle’s blade deeper into his palm, letting his blood fall into the small wooden bowl between them.

“Please, stop this!” Kyle urged, and when Alex didn’t respond, he grabbed his wrist, halting him. “Sire!”

Alex panted, trying to ignore the pain as it spread from his hand to his entire body. “It’s alright, it’s just the spell. It’s a little draining, is all.”

“It’s strong enough now,” Kyle said, holding Alex’s hand in place as he reached with his other for a bandage. He came around the bowl to sit in front of his friend, and began cleaning his wound.

“It should be,” Alex said, his forehead, upper lip, cheeks, and neck covered with sweat. “That Viking was not supposed to have seen us.”

“You were right,” Kyle shook his head. “But how did you know he was there? I hadn’t even heard him, and yet you were so sure we had been found.”

“I’ve lived too long not to know these things, Kyle,” he said.

“It hardly matters now. He and his friend had come, and they had been fooled. They won’t bother us again.”

Alex closed his hand around Kyle’s to cease his working. “Never assume the danger is gone until you are dead,” he said, his eyes boring into Kyle’s. “Fear not, my friend. You will fear danger for many more years to come.”

Kyle had only managed to clean the wound before Alex took his hand away, grabbed the bowl off the table, and stood. Kyle followed him with a sigh. “Sire, you must let me finish—”

“You can finish when I’ve set the cloaking spell,” he said, walking toward the edge of the forest. He stopped in front of a purple flower with yellow pollen that stuck out in the snow like a white star in a black sky, dipped his fingers into the blood mixture, and let it drip onto the flower, muttering some words that would be coherent only to his own ears.

As the flower soaked the blood in like water and began to glow, Alex nearly doubled over, his jaw clenched, his face red with the effort of continuing.

“Your majesty,” Kyle breathed, stepping forward only for Alex to shake his head, keeping him back. After a few seconds, he stood, panting. “Who was it that gave you that spell?”

“A physician I had known as a child, before…” he trailed off, and shook his head, clearing his throat. There was no point discussing that now. “She knew I would need to stay hidden, and she was right.”

“Had the spell ever failed before?”

Alex stopped on his path to another flower behind the cottage, and looked over his shoulder. Kyle looked concerned, and while Alex supposed it might have been better to lie, to say that the spell _had_ failed, that it was a common occurrence, that Alex had always managed without it anyway – he had never been able to lie to Kyle.

“No, it hasn’t,” he said, and turned back to the flower. “But I’ve strengthened it now, it shouldn’t fall again.”

“Why do you think it failed this time?”

Alex stopped, his fingers still in the blood. He never got a clear image of the Viking that had spied on them from behind the trees, only gold hair. “I do not know,” he said, “but I will find out.”

“What – no!” Kyle came around him before he could pour blood onto the flower. “Promise me you will not go near that Viking!” Alex met Kyle’s eyes, but his friend’s resolve seemed to only strengthen. “_Promise me_.”

Alex gestured to the side with his chin, and Kyle moved, his jaw clenched. “I cannot, in good conscience, make a promise that I know I will break.”

“_Sire_—”

Alex let the blood fall onto the second flower, muttered the spell, and he gasped, hunched over as the pain overtook him. His bones were burning, his muscles growing tense, his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to kill him – and then it was over.

He panted, his legs nearly giving out before Kyle was beside him, keeping him up. Alex had his head against Kyle’s chest, his bloody hand curled against his woolen coat, his other hand gripping the bowl tightly. There was enough blood for one more flower. Just once more, and he would be done.

Kyle’s arms around him were strong, his heart beating against Alex’s cheek. Alex forced himself to step out of his hold. “I’m – I’m alright.”

“You are not,” Kyle said. “Let me pour on the last flower.”

“It is not your blood,” Alex said, trudging over to the final one. “Not your burden.”

Kyle stopped him, his hand gripping his arm tightly until Alex was facing him. “When will you allow me to protect you.”

“Is that what you think I brought you along for?” Alex asked, and pulled his arm free. “I am not a fragile vase in need of protection.”

“Fragile, you are most definitely not,” Kyle said with a scoff, and the corner of Alex’s lips quirked upward. A moment of silence, then, “Please, sire. At least promise me you will not put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

Alex poured the final drops of the blood onto the flower, muttered the words, and felt the effects of the completed spell take over. He fell to the ground, Kyle at his side in an instant. He breathed heavily for a long moment, and when he managed a word, he said, “Nothing I do is unnecessary.”

Kyle didn’t look any more reassured by his words, but Alex’s attention was on the edge of the forest where the Viking had come to watch them hours ago. He felt Kyle’s grip through his thin shirt, warm and comforting and hard, as if Kyle would’ve been willing to die before he let Alex get hurt. But little did he understand that nothing would hurt Alex more. He had to protect Kyle, whatever that meant. He wouldn’t go looking for the Viking, he would grant Kyle that much peace of mind, but if anyone were to come spying on them again, Alex swore he would be ready.

*

Michael woke to his sister’s yells, and groaned, pressing his face deeper into his pillow, his curls curtaining his eyes.

When she beat at his door, Michael groaned louder, hoping it would be enough to keep Isobel away. Of course it wasn’t.

“Michael!” she snapped as she kicked the door open. Michael heard the crows outside take off, undoubtedly terrified. He wished he could join them. “I told you we needed to be out before dawn! The sun’s been long up, and you’re still here?!”

“It was a long night,” Michael said, “Courtesy of your brother.”

“No,” Isobel said, pulling Michael’s clothes from a cabinet and throwing them at him. “Don’t you pin the blame on him, _you_ were the one who drank too much and slipped away with too many.” She huffed, throwing a particularly heavy coat at his head. She put her hands on her hips, looking around. “Where are the blasted women, you don’t have them hiding in the gardens, do you?”

“Hm?” Michael looked around, and smiled lazily at his sister. “Must’ve slipped away again in the night.”

“Proud of yourself for that, are you?” his sister looked disgusted. “Dear gods, would you _get up already_?! I promised Maria I’d help her with the beads two hours ago!”

“So early in the morning?” Michael yawned, sitting up with his eyes closed.

“It’s noon, you idiot,” she seethed. “And I intend to go now, so gathering the fish for today’s feast will be left entirely up to you!”

“Gathering the—” he opened his eyes, frowning. When he saw Isobel turn to the door, he stumbled out of bed in his haste. “What for?”

Isobel scoffed. “I knew you’d forget. Lydia’s childbirth was yesterday, the festivities are today!”

Michael shut his eyes and groaned. “Bloody hell.”

“That’s the spirit,” she shrugged, “sort of.”

“And you expect me to go by myself?”

Isobel pursed her lips, and for a moment, Michael felt that she was trying very hard not to kill him. In the end, she huffed, turned her chin up at him, and left.

Michael sighed and fell back into bed, face-down on the pillow, hoping to suffocate.

After Michael had dressed, his hair tied into a knot atop his head, he headed out of his cottage. On his way to the lake, he waved to a few neighbors and some of the children running past. He had a large net hanging over his shoulder, and after some hesitance, he took his sword and put it at his belt.

As he made his regular path to the lake through the forest, he recalled his trip with Liz. _They are favored_, she had said. He avoided a branch and a bush as he considered those words. He and Liz had planned on killing the trespassers. Could it have been possible that yesterday’s sudden disappearance of the cottage had been an attempt of the gods to protect them? Why? Who could they be? What value could they have?

Michael was on the dirt road he usually took to the clearing at the lake when he hesitated on the opening to another trail. He looked down it a moment, then swallowed, set the net down, and headed down the path with his sword pulled free from his belt.

Was it possible to find the men again this time? To see that stranger? If Michael did see him again, what would he do? _A silly thought_, he silently scolded himself. He knew what he would do, and since Michael obviously couldn’t come back with anyone else, he would have to do it alone.

Michael was just running over several different scenarios of what he would tell Max and the others when he came back with a bloodied sword and clothes when he saw a light behind the trees, and all thoughts came to a halt. He hesitated, then held his sword higher, his grip tightening on the hilt.

His heart started beating faster as he realized that unlike they had done last night when he had been accompanied by Liz, the trees were opening up, creating a clearing for Michael. First, it was the lake’s shore, then the pile of logs and nets gathered nearby. Then, Michael saw it. The cottage. Neither man was in sight, and Michael’s grip on his sword was so tight it hurt.

He stepped forward. The reason he couldn’t kill them last time was because he’d hesitated. He would not hesitate again. Or so he thought. As soon as he neared the end of the shadows, the stranger’s flowery face flashed in his mind and he stopped. He blinked, his brows furrowed.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, looking down at his feet, accusing. Why wouldn’t he move? This man was no different than any other trespasser who had paid the price for his foolishness. Michael closed his eyes. All he had to do was move forward, get the job done, and return to the village where he would get a meal and a woman, and enjoy the rest of the day in bed.

The thought had him taking steps again, and just as he was out of the shadows, an arrow suddenly pierced the tree behind him – a mere inch from his head – and he froze.

“The next one goes between your eyes,” a deep voice drawled, and without lowering his sword, Michael slowly turned, his heart inexplicably jumping in his chest as he came face to face with the flowery stranger he’d seen the previous day.

“Well, well,” Michael said, looking lazily to the silver arrow aimed directly at his face, “you look very lively for someone who shouldn’t exist.”

_Lively_, Michael secret thought, didn’t come close to describing this man. Having so little distance between them, Michael saw that the stranger’s dark brown eyes shimmered in the pale sunlight, golden specs dancing across as he watched Michael with narrowed eyes. His lashes were long – far longer than any woman’s Michael had ever seen (though, to the women’s credit, he hardly paid much attention to their eyes). And yet, this stranger’s were absolutely captivating. His cheeks were rosy, his expression gave nothing away, his hair was straight, his bangs falling slightly above his eyes. Michael had the strangest urge to move them aside.

“And you are very bold to step out of the safety of the shadows,” he smirked, though even Michael could see that it was without humor. This was a man who hated to be bothered. Part of Michael wanted to laugh, but the larger part was angered.

“Safety of the shadows?” Michael asked. “Are you meant to frighten me?”

“I hope it will be enough to keep you at a distance,” he said. “I would rather not be the cause of any bloodshed on these grounds.”

“Arrogant to believe you can hurt the strongest of the Vikings, aren’t you?”

“I am guided simply by actions. And my word, of course.”

_I always protect my promise._ “Your word?”

The stranger raised his chin. “I give you my word that if you are to stay away from this cottage, from this clearing, from both me and my friend, then I will stay away from you. We need not see each other at all.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “You think you have the power to make such a promise?”

“I did not approach you yesterday, did I?” he said, and Michael blinked.

“You _knew_ I was watching? That’s impossible.”

“Not for me,” he said.

Michael tried to step forward, but at the stranger’s raised arrow, he was forced to move further back against the tree. “Why couldn’t my sister see it? The cottage, why am I the only one who can come near?”

The stranger hesitated. “I would not tell a Viking my secrets.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, and slowly said, “It’s because you don’t know.” He didn’t answer, and Michael asked, “Is it magic? Is that how you’re hiding this place?”

He searched Michael’s face a moment, then with a curious tone, he said, “You ask a lot of questions.” Michael blinked, surprised by the statement. “Must be dreadfully irritating not to have the answers.”

And Michael didn’t know why, but before he could help it, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“More questions,” the stranger said. “I promised my friend—”

“_Kyle_.”

A pause, then, “I promised my friend I would not come looking for trouble, but I have failed to mention to him that trouble always seems to find me.”

“You ask for it,” Michael said. “You would not be hiding on Viking land if you truly hoped for peace.”

“Do we have an agreement, or not?”

“You must be mad if you think the clan would ever—”

“I am not asking the clan, I am asking you,” he said, and Michael’s smile turned small. The seriousness in the stranger’s eyes pierced his heart, somehow making it impossible for Michael to respond with any kind of joke.

“Me,” Michael repeated, surprised at the lump in his throat.

“Yes, you are the only one who sees the cottage, therefore, you are the only one who matters to me.”

Michael pursed his lips, trying not to look into the meaning of those words, trying not to read into them incorrectly. He knew very well what the stranger meant, why would his mind transform the intention?

“Tell me, Viking,” he said, “I know bloodshed means little to you, but it means a great deal to me.”

“Oh,” he barked a humorless laugh, “an _insult_! That’s courteous!”

“Am I wrong?” he tilted his head, glancing at the sword in Michael’s hand. “Tell me, what had you intended to do with that?”

Michael swallowed, but refused to answer. “You have no right to be on our land.”

“We will be gone soon enough if we do not find what we are looking for, I assure you. Until then, I am politely asking you to _keep your distance_.”

“Politely? With an arrow aimed at my face?”

The stranger held Michael’s gaze, and Michael saw his reluctance before he took a deep breath, and slowly lowered his weapon.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have,” the stranger said, “you learn to take precautionary measures with everything. And, forgive me for my saying so, but it seemed to be the only way to get you to lower your sword.”

“Lower my…” Michael’s brows furrowed until he realized he’d brought his own weapon down as well. He breathed out, at a loss for words. He _never_ put his weapon down.

“I take that as a _yes_, then?”

Michael looked up and found the stranger had stepped back, though he never tucked his arrow away. “Your name,” he said. “I want to know your name.”

“Why?”

_Because you were right_, he wanted to say. _Because I hate not knowing, and that you remain a stranger – it bothers me, though I cannot tell you why. I can hardly explain it to myself._

“Because if you don’t tell me, we agree on nothing,” he ended up saying instead.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed. “My name? That is all it will take?”

Michael swallowed. He shouldn’t allow it. To have strangers on his clan’s land, it was illegal. To accept them… but then this particular stranger was right. For whatever reason, only Michael could see the cottage. Only Michael knew these two were here. _They are favored_, Liz’s words rang in his ears, and Michael couldn’t help but think that perhaps they were. For now, at least. Just enough time to give Michael to solve the mystery before putting an end to the story.

“That is all it will take.”

“Give me yours first,” he said, and Michael barked another laugh, though he was surprised that it felt more genuine than the last.

“Is that how little you trust?”

“I’m cautious,” he reminded Michael. “And as you have already mentioned, you are the strongest of the Vikings. You have no reason to fear me.”

Michael watched him. He knew he was right; he was the strongest of his kind, and he need not be as wary. And yet, something about this stranger’s tone told Michael that he was a dangerous foe to have indeed.

“Michael,” he said. “My name is Michael.”

The stranger studied him, then, “My name is Alex.”

Michael raised a brow. “Is that the truth?”

“So many questions,” Alex breathed, and leaned back against a tree. “If you go back the way you came, the trail should close.”

Michael smirked. “It should. Will it?”

Alex hesitated, then, “I hope so. Though I suppose if we get found out by anyone else, that will be my plight to deal with.”

Michael’s eyes traveled down, only now noticing that Alex’s left palm was bandaged and stained red. He stepped back, his eyes on Alex, just as Alex’s eyes were on his. “Oh, and, Viking?” he held his bow up. “If you break our agreement, and you harm my friend in any way, my arrow will not pierce your fair face, but your heart.”

_Fair face? _Michael wanted to say, but he blinked, and the archer was gone.


	2. Chapter Two. The Sharp Arrow

“Michael. _Michael_!”

Michael snapped out of his thoughts, his mind replaying his last interaction with the archer – _Alex_, he reminded himself, not knowing why he needed to remember – and looked up at his sister-in-law, Liz, as she waved her hand in front of his face.

Michael blinked. “Sorry, sister, did you say something?”

“Only a few hundred times, but I am glad to have finally caught your attention,” Liz said, amused, and knelt beside him. “What troubles you, brother? I have never seen you so deep in thought.”

The archer crossed Michael’s mind, the flakes of snow on his dark hair, the cold turning his cheeks and nose red, the glitter in his eyes as he followed Michael’s smallest movements. Michael pushed the thoughts away, owing the way his own fingers twitched to the cold, and the raging desire to kill the archer who had so easily mocked him.

“Deep in thought?” he said, smirking as he patted down the damp mud around the newly placed trees in his garden. “That hardly sounds like me.”

“I agree,” Liz said, “yet I see it. Your mind is busy.”

“Only with the planting conditions,” Michael said as he stood, dusting off his hands. He glanced at Liz who was admiring the small tree, and sighed. After yesterday, he had contemplated lying to Liz about what had happened, of telling her to forget the chase he’d sent them on, tell her he had been mistaken. However, he had decidedly preferred not to bring it up. Perhaps he would be fortunate. Perhaps everyone had forgotten about the entire incident already.

“I asked you if you had managed to find the cottage again,” Liz said, pushing up more dirt against the tree trunk with her bare hands, as if hoping to guarantee its secure position that way.

Michael glanced at her, then looked to the trees behind him, making as if he was contemplating adding more. “Nothing that I can report. I fear I had imagined the entire affair.”

Liz turned to him, her brow raised. “But you were so certain!”

“Yes, well, the effects of having had too much to drink the night before,” Michael said. “It has happened before.”

Liz narrowed her eyes. She looked like she wanted to say something, but at the end, seemed to decide against it, and instead asked, “And that stranger? No hope of discovering his identity?”

_My name is Alex._ Michael shrugged his wool-heavy shoulders. “Not if he doesn’t exist.”

It would be alright to lie if Alex and his friend planned to leave soon, wouldn’t it? Michael was the only one able to cross the barrier, if he tried with anyone else, they would never get through. It had nothing to do with the look in Alex’s eyes, or the way he had lowered his arrow. Michael had never felt mercy before, and he did not now. He was lying to ensure that his good name and his word would not suffer on the count of a man who had only planned to secretly stay for a short while, then disappear.

Liz hummed, pulling Michael out of his thoughts. She didn’t look disappointed at the loss of an adventure, but curious. Not for the first time, Michael wished he had Max at his side to help decipher Liz’s expression, to tell him what she was thinking, for Max had so rarely not known what was running through his wife’s head. Michael had once wondered what that would be like; having someone to whom you connect so easily, that you can hear their thoughts and feel what they feel. He suspected Isobel was on a similar path, though Michael doubted he would ever find it himself.

“Alright then,” Liz said in the tone of someone only beginning a quest. “If you insist.”

She said no more about the cottage, the strangers, or the adventure behind it, and Michael was more than grateful for her one-sided conversation, for as she spoke, he thought of Alex. Agreement or not, Michael would have to keep an eye on him. Even if his word was true – and there was no reason for Michael to believe anything he had said – what kind of Viking allowed strange business to be conducted on his land without knowing what it was?

Something about Alex’s behavior, his stance, his confidence – something about it seemed familiar, as if Michael had come across his species during his invasions. Whatever it meant, Alex was a mystery, and as much as Michael hoped to deny it, Alex had guessed correctly. Michael _hated_ mysteries.

“Where are you going?”

Michael looked up from his bag to see Maria standing at his door, her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Bloody hell, Maria,” Michael went back to packing. “You really should not sneak up on people like that, I could’ve taken your head off.”

“I am sure you think so,” Maria said, and moved to sit on Michael’s bed, next to his sack. “Where are you off to?”

“It’s noon,” Michael said. “I’m off to hunt.”

“Bit early for hunting, is it not?” Maria tilted her head, and Michael narrowed his eyes at the necklace against her heart.

“That necklace,” he said. “Interesting flower inside.”

Maria clutched the pendant protectively. “It’s mine, don’t touch it.”

“It’s yours,” Michael repeated, his smirk widening. “Tell me, did it happen to be from Isobel?”

“That is none of your concern!” Maria said, though Michael couldn’t miss the blush at her cheeks. “I grow tired of your games, tell me where you’re really going.”

Michael scoffed. “If you don’t tell me about your necklace, I’m not telling you where I’m going.”

“Aha!” she stood. “So you aren’t going hunting!”

“Either way,” Michael shrugged, “I’m not telling you.”

“Suit yourself,” Maria said, her hands behind her back. “I have my ways of figuring out.”

Michael looked up, his eyes dark. “You shouldn’t talk of magic, Maria, you know that is—”

“Oh, don’t be daft!” she said. “I wouldn’t mention magic in this or any other land.” She raised her chin. “Not that I have anything to be ashamed of. Only fools are afraid of what they do not understand.”

Michael sighed. “It’s talk like that which angers the gods.”

“Nothing angers the gods more than cowardice,” Maria said, then groaned through her teeth. “There you have it, I was enjoying this perfectly nice day, and speaking to you has ruined it.”

“I refuse to acknowledge that,” Michael said. “Speaking to me can only brighten one’s day.”

Maria turned away with a _hmph_ sound. “Your siblings are much more pleasurable, I am to go speak with one of _them_ instead!” She stopped at the door, her hand on the frame, and she looked to Michael. “But do not think I will not discover your little secret, whatever it may be.”

“Let us see where that leads you,” Michael said, smirking though his heart beat painfully in his chest. Maria was cleverer than most, and when she set out to have something, she obtained it with very little difficulty. If she found out what Michael was hiding, what he _knew_, would she tell Max and Liz? Would she try to kill Alex and Kyle?

_If you break our agreement, and any harm comes to my friend, this arrow will not pierce your fair face, but your heart._

Michael knew nothing of Alex, how he appeared in the forest, how he hid himself. He could entrust that he himself would be safe, but would Maria? Would anyone? Michael would tell his tribe everything he knew, he thought, but _after_ he discovered Alex’s secret. After he discovered the stranger’s _weakness_. Then they would strike.

Since he had been a boy, Michael had been trained to carry heavy weights and tread carefully enough not to startle his prey. When you needed weapons, learning to be light of foot was essential, which was why he had managed to make it through the forest with his sack across his back with ease. He did not know how long he would be watching Alex, but he’d packed more than weapons with him. He had brought fish, fruits, some bread, and along his waist was a canteen of water.

When he reached the cliff (for Alex had found him when he’d dared approach the shore), he hoped the cottage would not hide away from him, but as he peered between the trees, he saw that whatever barrier had kept him and Liz the last time from entering had lowered itself again for him. With a smirk, he settled himself further down the edge of the cliff where he could hear and see the two clearly, and yet stay behind them. He remained in the shadows, watching the cottage as it sat silently on the shore.

“Come on, one of you,” he muttered after a while of nothing happening. “Do something. Show me your secrets.”

Finally, a door opened, and Alex and Kyle both came out, a sack of clothes hung on their backs. Michael held his breath as they sat at the edge of the lake, and… washed their garments.

Michael sighed. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Wings? Dark crows? One of them turning into a horse? He’d been to enough lands and heard enough stories to identify any man or woman by their family seal, their weapons, or even the way they captured their food. Michael had not paid attention to Alex’s bow and arrow yesterday in favor of watching Alex himself. But soon enough, Michael was sure they would reveal themselves.

“Where had you gone yesterday?” Kyle suddenly asked, and Alex chuckled. Michael narrowed his eyes. Alex sounded tired, as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep.

“How long have you been waiting to ask?”

“Yesterday,” Kyle said with no trace of humor in his voice. Michael leaned forward. “Tell me you did not follow those Vikings.”

Alex said nothing for a moment, then, “I did not follow those Vikings.” Kyle’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly. “I intercepted one.”

“You—”

“He was foolish enough to approach the cottage, and I took care of it.”

Michael clenched his jaw. A trespasser calling _him_ foolish. Michael tightened his hand on his sack, imagining all the ways he wanted to kill this man.

“He spotted the cottage?” Kyle’s voice rose in alarm. “Why are you not more concerned?”

“As I said,” Alex wrung out some pants, seemingly unbothered by the ice water as Kyle noticeably shivered. “I took care of it.”

Kyle turned toward Alex, his profile clear while Alex’s face remained hidden, his gaze expectant. Alex sighed. “I made an agreement, he will not be bothering us again.”

“You _made_ an _agreement_?” Kyle stood. “What makes you think he will honor anything between you? You are not a Viking! He owes you no loyalty or promise!”

Michael pursed his lips. For Kyle to doubt Michael’s honor to their agreement was fair, for Michael had barely lasted a day before he came to see the two strangers again (despite Alex’s warnings never to come back), and yet, to have his honor doubted at all felt like an insult. Michael had nearly lost his life on multiple occasions in the past to protect a secret.

“I know,” Alex said calmly, then turned to face his friend, his smile small and comforting. “But I assure you,” and right then, Alex turned his eyes and caught Michael’s through the trees. “There is nothing to fear with him.”

Michael moved back slightly, his tread silent, though he knew that would make no difference to Alex who seemed to be able to spot him as easily as if Michael were right in front of him.

“How are you so certain?” Kyle frowned, following Alex’s gaze worriedly, though his sight did not seem to be as sharp.

“Oh, I have my methods,” Alex said with an innocent smile and a cheery tone to his friend. “Come,” he said before Kyle could continue arguing, “gather the clothes while I gather some firewood to dry them.”

“But—”

“Trust me,” Alex said, walking backwards towards the forest. “We are as safe as can be.”

Michael squinted at the trees where Alex had walked through, looking for the sign of the archer. _Was he really just gathering firewood? Did he trust to leave his friend unguarded? Was he strengthening the barrier that was meant to keep Michael and others out?_

“Out on an excursion, are we?” Michael heard and whipped around, his sword up.

Alex stood there with a raised brow, his arms crossed as he leaned against a tree, looking dreadfully unimpressed.

Michael blinked. “How did you…” he looked down to the forest trees on the shore. A run from those trees to these should’ve taken the archer at least ten minutes, and that was excluding all the roots, bushes of thorns, and low branches to avoid. Michael swallowed. Clearly, he could not afford to show surprise or trepidation around this man.

“You talk about me with insult,” he hissed, holding his sword up despite Alex’s lack of weapon. “As if I were a common intruder!”

Alex tilted his head. “Are you meant to be anything more?”

“If you think that a simple trade of words between us will keep me from investigating you, and discovering your business on _my_ land, then—”

“_Your_ land,” Alex repeated, his eyes darkening. “How very entitled for a human.”

Michael growled and stood. “I am no mere human. I am a Viking. Honored with gifts from the gods.”

“And how proud your gods must be as you slaughter children and cut down the innocent for riches.” Alex held up a hand as Michael stood, the shape of his broad chest and strong arms visible through the thin fabric of his white shirt. Michael’s eyes fell to the leather-string bracelet at the archer’s wrist, engraved with a small silver charm of a dragon midflight with a flower above its head.

He frowned. If that was meant to be a family crest, it was one he had never seen before.

“I told you, had I not? I told you my friend and I would leave as soon as we were finished with our business.”

“Any business on this land is Viking business,” Michael said. “_My_ business.”

“Sparked your interest, have we?” Alex sighed, rubbing his temple. Michael was right, the archer was tired. He dropped his hand to his side, his eyes going over Michael’s shoulder to Kyle who was starting to glance more into the forest.

“What will it take,” he asked, “to keep you at a distance?”

Michael scoffed, raising the point of the sword to Alex’s throat, though Alex seemed less and less frightened, and more irritated. It angered Michael. This archer must have really not known the kind of strength Michael had.

“If you are asking what will keep me away from you, nothing,” Michael said, hating the double meaning that whispered in his ear at the sentence. _What was the matter with him?_

“Do you honestly believe that watching us will tell you anything?”

“Are you afraid I _will _uncover something?”

Alex’s eyes flashed. “I am certain you will not.”

“As _certain _as you were that no Viking would ever cross your barrier?” Alex’s eyes narrowed, and Michael smirked. He was cracking through to something in the archer’s armor. Alex hated surprises, it seemed, just as much as Michael hated not knowing. And Michael was as much a surprise as Alex was a mystery.

“_Orion’s Bow_, do you plan to kill me or not?” Alex snapped, and shoved the tip of the sword away with his finger. “Kindly get that thing out of my face before I break it off at the hilt.”

Michael blinked. No one had ever lost their temper with him but his family, and not even they would dismiss a weapon pointed at them so easily. Michael knew he should be furious, should slit Alex’s throat right then for insubordination, but he found himself only resisting the urge to teasingly poke the tip of the sword at Alex’s chest. He wanted to see what Alex would do if he did.

“I don’t think you are as courteous to the masters of this land as you ought to be,” he said, keeping his voice steady.

“If Mother Nature ever takes the shape of a human form, and tells me she is displeased with my decorum, you will be the first to know,” Alex said dryly, and the corner of Michael’s lips twitched. Alex was genuinely unafraid of him. Part of Michael felt odd, inexplicable, but another was insulted.

“You think me foolish, but I will tell you this,” he said as he stood and sheathed his sword. “I am protecting my tribe. Secrets have never been safe amongst us, and you are the biggest secret there is. That makes you a threat.”

“Where there are no secrets, there is no trust.”

“Trust,” Michael scoffed. “Is that what you ask of Kyle to give you? His trust? Even as you come speak to me without his knowledge?”

Alex’s eyes filled with a sudden fierce protectiveness at the mention of Kyle. It was a look Michael recognized in himself; that willingness to die for his family, to feel pain or misery on their behalf, to do _anything_ so that they could smile and rest with peace.

“If it allows him to sleep safer at night, I would gladly suffer through an interaction with a thousand Vikings. Or worse,” Alex shrugged, “with you.”

“Most men would take it an honor to speak with me,” Michael said, “or do anything with me, really.”

“Most _men_?”

Michael’s smirk faltered. Most men? Why had he said men? He didn’t find men attractive in the way that he had implied, and he certainly didn’t want Alex thinking he did.

“Thought it was fairly obvious the women already couldn’t resist me,” he continued, surprised with himself at how smoothly the sentence left his lips.

“Goodness,” Alex muttered, “how many blows to the head _does _an invasion cost you Vikings?”

“_Invasion_,” Michael repeated. “A word like that coming from the trespasser?”

Alex gave Michael what he could only call a look of disgust, and waved him off. “I’m finished humoring you. Watch us however long you like, just don’t touch the fish and don’t let on to my friend that you’re here. The last thing I want is to deepen his concerns.”

Michael frowned. “You _want_ me to uncover your secrets?”

Alex looked over his shoulder at Michael as he returned down the path he must have come. “I said you may watch us, but the only way you will learn of anything is if I tell you myself. And unlike you, I value secrets.” He stopped and turned. “And as I know you weren’t paying too much attention the first time, I will repeat myself once more. If any harm comes to my friend, if so much as a hair is moved out of place…”

Michael huffed a humorless chuckle, nodding. He was going to kill this man. No matter what came, he was going to _kill_ him. “I know, I know,” he said. “Your arrow will pierce my heart.”

“Oh good,” Alex said as he turned his back to Michael. “So you _were_ listening.”

Michael put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He’d rarely killed a warrior when his back was turned, but a big part of him yearned for it now. To see Alex fall, that clever look on his face turned still and expressionless. _Alex’s eyes would no longer glitter if he was dead_, a voice said, and Michael shoved it away. What good was it?

But no, he had to concede to one thing. He wanted Alex to look straight at him as the light faded from his eyes. He wanted the regret at how he’d spoken, the remorse at how he’d treated Michael, the shame and fear and desperation fill his face before Michael shed his blood and stopped his heart. He wanted Alex to _beg_ for forgiveness. _That_ was why his heart beat around the man, that was the true intent behind each of his strange and curious thoughts around the archer, that was the deeper meaning behind his desire to understand better. He wanted to know just who he was killing so that he could enjoy it that much more. He wanted to know just who would be losing Alex when he was dead.

That thought alone was what kept Michael on the cliff, was what kept him in the shadows, watching Alex intently as he returned to Kyle with firewood (when had he had the time to gather an armful?). That thought was the one thing keeping him from running after Alex and cutting him down where he stood. It was as Liz had said. Michael would uncover the mystery before he ended the story.

The sun was setting, and Michael was on the verge of tearing a tree from where it stood. Alex was doing this to mock him, Michael _knew_ he was. He had hoped to identify Kyle and Alex by now beyond their names, but if they had a secret power or hidden intentions behind their business here, they were being careful to hide it. Alex had told Michael not to let Kyle know he was there, which Michael assumed meant that the archer wouldn’t be giving his whereabouts away himself. And Kyle had not looked to the forest where Michael was hiding, though he was certainly suspicious of where Alex had been.

“You took longer than usual,” Kyle had said.

“I ran into a very ugly bird,” Alex had said as he set the firewood down, and Michael had been ready to throw a boulder on him then.

Since then, their conversations had been limited to clothing, food, and gardening. Michael felt like he was watching a conversation with Max and Liz, and it was driving him mad.

Michael looked to the setting sun with a sigh. The others would expect him back for dinner once it turned dark, and if he didn’t leave now, he would be late. It had hardly been a day, he couldn’t afford his brother questioning where he’d been, and would’ve preferred not to have Maria’s inquisitive eye on him as he trudged back.

“I will see you tomorrow, _archer_,” Michael said as he threw his sack over his shoulder, the remains of his food discarded in the forest.

“No!” Michael stopped as Kyle screamed. The man had dropped something valuable of his into the fire as he stood. Alex turned from his work by the lake, saw what had happened, and cursed as he hurried towards the fire. Michael watched with wide eyes as Alex stuck his hand into the flames, burning the sleeve of his shirt, and pulled the trinket – a ring – out, patting it down before handing it back to Kyle.

Michael stepped to the edge of the shadows, trying to understand what he had just seen. Alex’s skin was not burned, and he didn’t look the slightest bit pained.

Kyle took the ring gratefully, checking Alex’s burnt sleeve. “My prince,” he breathed, “are you alright?”

Alex nodded with an almost disinterested expression. _My prince_? Was Alex a royal? Michael supposed it should not have come as a surprise. Alex’s formal and arrogant speech befit a prince, and he could imagine Alex with a silver crown on his head with very little difficulty… but what was a prince doing on their grounds? Michael turned to leave, Alex’s eyes catching his as if aware of his shock.

*

Alex had considered telling Kyle not to call him _“Sire”_ or _“Your Majesty”_ or anything that would give away his title to the Viking who was watching them, but he reasoned that he had tried giving that same order before, and it had done very little to change the habits of someone as loyal and fond of authority as his friend. He also knew Kyle would ask why, and Alex could not think of an answer that would not leave his dear companion concerned, so when he returned with the firewood, he had said nothing. When Kyle had called him, _“My prince_,” Alex knew Michael had heard. But what good would it have done him to know that Alex was a prince? He belonged to a kingdom the Viking had surely never come across in his lifetime.

“Sire,” Kyle said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I am,” Alex asked, rubbing down the arm he had stuck into the flames only a moment ago. “Is your ring safe?”

“Yes,” Kyle said, sticking a silver chain through the ring and tossing it around his neck, hiding it under his shirt. “I apologize, I should not have been playing with it. Because of me, you had to—”

“Fire and ice do no harm to me, Kyle,” Alex said with a sigh, glancing at the trees. He couldn’t hear the faint rustling of interrupted leaves anymore, or feel a pair of eyes on him. Michael must’ve gone. No longer watched, Alex felt his shoulders fall. He had been prepared to strike Michael down if necessary, to cut down any weapon he might aim. He was glad not to have to worry about that for the next while. “Don’t you ever weary of worrying?”

“Of course I do,” Kyle sighed, sitting in front of him cross-legged. “If only I could stop.”

Alex chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced at the chain around Kyle’s neck. “Do you fear tomorrow?”

“What’s to fear?” Kyle said, though his voice was quiet. “She’s been gone for years.”

“She’s been gone seconds,” Alex said, sitting down beside him. “But then again, time runs a bit differently for me.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not you then,” he smiled, then it dimmed slightly. “Just tomorrow, Sire, for my sake, don’t go anywhere. Don’t let me worry.”

Alex glanced at the forest. “Tomorrow, Kyle, I will not leave your side.”

Kyle nodded gratefully, unable to look at Alex. Alex stood, dusting his hands. “You’re not going to strengthen the spell again, are you?”

“No, I will not,” he said. “There’s no longer a use.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is a certain Viking who seems capable of crossing the barrier despite however strong I make it.”

“What?” Kyle stood. “And you’re just tell me _now_?”

“Fear not, I spoke to him and settled the matter.”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “_This _is the same Viking you intercepted?”

“I simply warned him not to come near us.”

“You threatened him,” he repeated, looking faint. “Oh dear Zeus, you_ threatened_ him? _Alex_!”

“No, I did not threaten him… much.”

“_Oh_—”

“I asked him to keep a distance, I told him we had our own business to finish, and would not be in anyone’s path, so there was no need for him to fear us. Or would you rather have started a war with the Vikings for a journey that will surely not amount to more than a fortnight?”

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did it at least work? Has he come back since?”

“No,” Alex said, and at Kyle’s look, he shrugged. “I promise you, Kyle, that Viking will not be the cause of any harm to you.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Curse you and your long life, I fear it’s taught you to twist your words in a way too difficult to decipher.”

“You learn,” Alex smiled. “Come on, the sun is setting, the stars will be out soon. ’Tis best we start with the tracking spell now, while the moon is still apparent.”

“Will you be alright tomorrow while it is gone?”

Kyle’s tone was casual, though his eyes raked Alex as if fearing for him. He sighed. “Rest is all I will need. It is one night, Kyle. Try to survive the panic of a few hours.”

Kyle grumbled something about the troubles of worrying over those who did not deserve it as he marched inside the cottage, and Alex laughed, his eyes on the stars. His smile dimmed as he thought of his family; his mother, his aunt, his people… were they watching the same stars? Were they falling asleep to the same moon? Were they thinking of Alex? Were they trying to send him a message?

_“I am protecting my tribe. Secrets have never been safe amongst us, and you are the biggest secret there is. That makes you a threat.”_

Alex shook his head, groaning. Why was he thinking of that Viking’s words now? What he had plans for would certainly cause no one on these grounds any harm. If he was being honestly with himself, Alex didn’t entirely believe that there was _anything_ of much value on this land, but it bothered him that there was someone who thought him careless enough to allow injury to anyone. Though why Michael’s opinion meant anything to him was beyond him.

“Foolish Viking,” Alex muttered, half-hoping the stars would somehow carry his words to Michael in his sleep tonight. “After all the harm you’ve caused, who are you to speak to anyone of threats?”

“Did you say something, Your Majesty?” Kyle had just come out, carrying in his hands a pale-blue blanket filled with objects clanking together.

Alex shook his head as he helped set the blanket down, and it opened on the frosty ground to reveal four candles and silver candlesticks. Alex set to work on making a small fire, and when it was finished, surrounded by snow and pebbles, Alex and Kyle sat on opposite ends. As Kyle busied himself with setting a candle to each side, Alex took a chance to narrow his eyes at the forest surrounding them. When he was certain that Michael was no longer there, he exhaled softly.

“The moon is nearly blackened,” Kyle said. “Is there any point to this tonight?”

“Does the process still frighten you, Kyle?”

“It’s never frightened me,” Kyle snapped. “But must you exhaust yourself when you know the stars’ magic is weak?”

“There is no harm in trying,” he said, rubbing his hands together, then held them out towards the fire and closed his eyes, muttering. The language was old, and sometimes, Alex struggled to translate the words in his head.

_“It’s a trick, to keep focused,” _his physician had told him. _“So long as you can translate the words, you’ll be reminded of your reality outside the spell.”_

_ “My reality?” _Alex had asked, and she had nodded gravely.

_“If you let it, Alexander, the ancient language will take you. Memorize the spell, speak it, but do not give it much thought. Concentrate on your purpose, your reality. If you must think of the words you speak, think of them in your own language, it weakens the spell’s hold on you.”_

_ “But if I have magic—”_

_ “You have magic, my dear boy, but it can never control you. I cannot know what would happen if it ever did. Take great care, Alexander. _Great_ care.”_

Alex huffed, irritated with himself. His lips were still moving, the spell leaving as if of its own accord. Alex tried translating the words in his head, not letting the fear of the magic consume him. It was getting more and more difficult to translate after so many years, to think of something he enjoyed, of something that motivated him. So Alex did what he always did. He thought of Kyle, of what they were working towards.

_Stars, moon, sky, snow_, he translated briefly and turned his thoughts back to Kyle before they could wander off. Kyle’s favorite food, the smile on his face when he ate and slept happily, the way he played with the ring around his neck, the way he worried.

_Trace, face, ice, kingdom. _Kyle’s concerns were always misplaced. He should worry more for himself than for Alex. Then again, Alex didn’t think he would _want_ Kyle worrying about his own safety. Alex wanted him to trust that he would come to his rescue. Just as he had so many years ago. Just as he had with that Viking.

_Flower, purple, yellow, blue, silver_. The man’s blonde hair, the stray curls falling loose from his knot, over his bright eyes that seemed to grow brighter whenever he thought he was going to have the chance to shed blood. Alex hated Vikings for that reason; their sole purpose was murder. It was disgusting. Why was Alex thinking of _him_ now? He told his mind to go silent, to focus on happier thoughts, but he soon felt a heavy weight on his bones, and the last word of the spell left his lips.

It wasn’t as it had been with the barrier. That spell had burned Alex’s muscles, had made his heart race with a panic he couldn’t explain, had left him doubling over, ready to spew blood onto the floor. This spell left him too weary to sit up on his own. It was as if every bit of his energy was being drained, leaving his mind turning, his ears full of static. There was suddenly too much noise and silence at the same time, and while Alex knew Kyle had set a hand on his, he could hardly feel it.

“The – the spell,” Alex mumbled, rubbing his face. “Has – has it worked?”

Alex managed to open his eyes enough to see the flame at the center rising, the white flame of the candles doing the same. Kyle gasped and Alex’s eyes widened. The sparks flew together higher, forming the silhouette of a face, but just as the image started, it fell apart, the fires dying as the candles burned out. The wood crackled with its orange and yellow flames, keeping Alex and Kyle warm.

“Sire, the fire, it… it nearly showed us someone. That’s never happened before!”

“Yes, and that could only mean one thing,” Alex breathed, now leaning against Kyle’s side, his hands turned up in front of him. “Whether we like it or not, there is someone on this land that we need.”

*

“Arrogant, entitled, little—”

“Why are you covered in mud?” Maria asked as Michael made his way through the village. He usually took notice before passing her cottage, but this time, he moved straight ahead, grumbling to himself.

“I went for a swim in it, is that a problem?” he snapped, and Maria, instead of looking offended or embarrassed, narrowed her eyes.

“That’s not true.”

Michael groaned, letting his sack fall to the ground. It had gotten dark, and others were already starting to light the fires in front of their homes, hurrying in to get dressed and rush back to the chief’s home for dinner. Michael saw some children carrying trays larger than their own heads covered in rice and fish, and other carried vegetables, rum, and more meat.

“It’s been a long day, Maria, and I’m not in the mood to humor you.”

Maria shrugged a shoulder, her arms crossed. “And you don’t have to. I’ve simply come to tell you that Isobel has chosen to accompany me to the feast, so you need not wait for her.”

“Wait for her?” His brows furrowed, then his eyes shut as he remembered. “_Wait for her_! I had forgotten!”

“Too busy with your…” she gestured at Michael’s sack with her chin, “_swim_, I see. Never to worry, she hardly noticed.”

“Doesn’t notice her own brother’s gone missing?” Michael grumbled, and Maria stepped closer.

“_Had_ you gone missing? I thought you were out hunting today.”

Michael avoided her gaze, picking up his sack and throwing it over his shoulder. “Don’t tire yourself with every word I say, Maria. There’s no need to concern yourself with me.”

“I’m not concerned, I am suspicious, there is a difference. I find it odd, is all.”

“Odd?”

“That the man who has no quarrel showing his _little sword_ to every woman in the village suddenly has so much to hide.”

Michael tilted his head, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. He had always had his battles with Maria, but he truly never thought she could think so low of him. “Are you calling me a liar, Maria?”

Maria searched his face, then smirked, stepping back. “Secrets aren’t lies, Michael, they’re secrets.” Her gaze sharpened. “Yet for _you_ to have a secret, it must be something really awful. I can hardly wait to find out what it is!”

She turned and stepped back into her cottage, but Michael stood, his brows furrowed. _Those words_, he thought. Maria almost sounded like Alex. Michael groaned, returning to his cottage, trying as hard as he could to put Alex out of his mind for the night.

_“If it allows him to sleep safer at night, I would gladly suffer through an interaction with a thousand Vikings. Or worse, with you.”_

“Bloody _bastard_,” Michael said through grit teeth. Who did that man think he was? Michael had cut down bigger than him a hundred times before, what made _him_ so special? Did he not realize that the only reason he was still alive was because Michael decided it? It ached his core to know that deep in the forest, this trespasser was hiding, and yet he spoke to Michael as if… as if…

_“Kindly get that thing out of my face before I break it off at the hilt.”_

Michael shook his head. He must have gone mad to be amused by such careless behavior! The way Alex had so smugly pushed Michael’s sword away as if it had been a harmless tree branch and not a deadly weapon – how condescending! As if he knew Michael couldn’t – or _wouldn’t_ – hurt him! It wasn’t attractive at all, it was infuriating!

When Michael had gotten inside his cottage and lit the fire outside his home to provide light, he found himself watching the flames, his thoughts of agitation fading to a dull buzz as he thought of the way Alex had crouched into the fire and stood, completely unharmed.

He had only patted down his shirt as if irritated that it had burned, but his skin was not red, he was not screaming, and he didn’t look the slightest bit afraid. His eyes only caught Michael’s a brief moment, and Michael knew that he was not meant to have seen what he did. Alex did not seem to perceive his immunity to burns as a strength.

Was it all forms of fire? Michael wondered as he changed out of his clothes, cleaned himself with a wet rag, and wore his thick layers of wool. Alex dressed so lightly, could he be immune to the cold as well? Was he as equally unaffected by any type of pain? Was that why he had seemed so unafraid by Michael’s sword? He knew Michael wouldn’t be able to hurt him? And if Alex really was a prince, then which kingdom did he belong to? Why was he here? What kind of kingdom was this that they allowed someone so odd to rule them? Someone so young?

Alex, the prince. Michael shook the thought of that man with dark eyes and rosy cheeks from his mind as he pulled his wool tighter around himself. It was time to enjoy the night. He had to be present if he wished to enjoy the meal with everyone. There was no use thinking of a man who would only make his blood boil, Michael told himself as he left his cottage and made his way down the path towards his brother’s cottage with the others. And yet, Alex remained on his mind.

“What ails you, brother?” Max asked with a hit to his back.

The others had sat around the fire, exchanging food and conversation, and while Michael answered to some, he started no discussion of his own. His answers were short, and though his plate was covered with food, he hardly touched any of it. Had he really been so distracted?

“Nothing,” Michael said, and smiled widely. Damn that Alex, and his ability to invade every one of Michael’s thoughts. Wherever Michael looked, he saw the archer – hiding behind the trees, watching him from the shadows. Every flicker of light was like the shine of his silver arrow, every bow was turned towards Michael, every eye watching him as if asking why he was letting this archer live.

Michael’s shoulders slumped, and he finished a large chicken leg in a breath’s time. How could he explain to his brother that someone had gotten under his skin?

Michael gasped and stood. “No!” The drums and lyre were so loud, as was the chatter of the other villagers, that only Michael’s close family sitting beside him looked up at him with surprised and curious eyes.

“No what, Michael?” Isobel asked while Maria looked up at him with suspicion and Liz watched him with an unreadable look in her eyes.

_No_, Michael would not allow some archer to get under his skin, to invade his thoughts, to consume and _ruin_ his night. And he hadn’t.

“No,” he ended up saying, “No, nothing ails me. Nothing is wrong. I am only disappointed in myself!”

Max frowned. “Why?”

Michael barely turned his head before his eyes fell on a blonde-haired woman a few seats to his left, her eyes on him as if he was everything she had ever hoped for. He smirked. “That I let this night pass without seizing the opportunity to take this lovely gem home.” He heard the groans of his friends, but ignored them, making his way over to the woman who had already stretched her hand out eagerly.

“My, my,” the girl said as Michael pulled her close to him, the others turned too drunk and laughing too loudly to notice. “Three nights in one week. Do you perhaps fancy me?”

_Had Michael gone to bed with this woman before? He hadn’t even noticed. _Michael groaned, pressing their lips together hard. “More than you know.”

_This_ was what he needed. He needed a warm body against his, he need breathy moans in his ears, long hair between his fingers, and luscious lips touching his. _Hands, hair, eyes, lips, distraction, distraction, distraction._

For the night, Michael thought of nothing but the fire in his body, the soft breasts against his chest, the legs around his waist, the moans of pleasure ringing in his cottage. It was only as he fell asleep with someone else’s body curled around his that thoughts of the archer returned.

_Michael was walking through a large white field, the ice like glass beneath his feet, covering every inch of grass. He looked around, hoping to recognize his village or see someone he knew, but there was only mountains and snow-white clouds in the skies._

_ “Is anybody here?!” he called out, pulling his wool tighter around himself._

_ Michael turned and was suddenly on the steps of a large castle that he was certain had not been there before, the walls as white as snow and as if made of frost. On the clear steps, there sat a figure. Michael narrowed his eyes, his frown deepening when he realized who it was._

_ “Alex?” he called, and the man looked up, startled. He had a single purple flower in his hands, the pollen a golden color, and unlike the archer that Michael knew, this Alex wore thick, winter wool._

_ “Do I know you?” he asked, and Michael blinked._

_ “I don’t know,” he confessed, and though part of him scolded himself for speaking the truth, Michael found that he wanted nothing less than to lie to the archer now. His eyes were wide and dark and _afraid_. They held their usual spark, but Michael somehow knew this was not the same Alex he had come across in his forest. That Alex looked tired and wary and troubled. This one was trusting and curled in on himself._

_ A loud yell echoed through the palace halls to the outside, and while Michael reached for the sword that was – unusually – not at his belt, Alex only jumped a little, scrunching in his shoulders. “He’s angry again. They’re all angry.”_

_ “Who?”_

_ “Don’t you know?” Alex asked, staring at his flower as if hoping it might take him away from this place. As if it might give him a miracle. “The monsters.”_

_ Michael’s brows furrowed. He caught sight of something silver and shimmering on Alex’s wrist. It was his bracelet, with the small charm of a dragon flying below a flower dangling from the string of leather._

_ “Is that your family crest?”_

_ He didn’t know why he expected Alex to answer, but when Alex nodded and said, “It is my kingdom crest,” Michael felt something strange poking at his chest._

_ “And your family?”_

_ “My family is my kingdom.”_

_ Michael looked around. The land was barren. He tried reaching for his sword again when another shout came from inside. _

_ “It’s alright,” Alex said. “They cannot hurt you here. They can only hurt me.”_

_ “You? Why? Who are these monsters? Is that your mission? To defeat them?”_

_ Alex finally looked up at Michael, his dark eyes focusing as if he only just realized that the Viking was standing there. Then he smiled softly, and Michael nearly stepped forward. “So many questions.”_

Michael woke with a start. He felt a stirring next to him, and looked down to find a blonde woman resting there. He knew neither her name nor why she was still there, but he did not wait to find out either. Without much care for silence, he hurriedly put his shirt, pants, and wool coat on, and stuck his feet into his boots. He tied his hair into a knot atop his head, and as he was shoving weapons and some food into his sack, the girl in his bed stretched.

Michael froze, then moved again when she had settled. He ran outside, the sky still dark as the sun prepared to rise. He made his usual way through the forest, and knew that if Alex could see him either way, then he might as well stay on the shore, to get a better look at the archer. He stayed in the shadows, letting his sack fall to the ground behind him. He found himself unable to sit until nearly half an hour later when the cottage door opened, and Alex stepped out.

Michael thought of the man in his dreams, the one on the steps of a strange palace, and stared at the man standing in front of him now. They were so different, but what changed them? They looked the same age, and yet this one seemed so much older. How was that possible? And why did Michael rush here to find him? Was it to make sure the archer hadn’t escaped the land without his knowledge? Was it to demand an explanation for the dream? Was it to reassure himself that the archer was still alive?

_No_, Michael put a hand to his chest. No, that wasn’t possible. It mattered nothing to him whether or not Alex was alright, only that his death be at Michael’s hands. Was that not Michael’s source of trouble now? His pride? He wanted to be the one to kill the archer, and that was all. Wasn’t it?

_“So many questions.”_

Michael gasped. The sound was nearly nonexistent, but as Alex stretched, he froze, and slowly looked over until his eyes caught Michael’s. The sunrise threw Alex in a bath of gold light, the tips of his hair turning to gold, the gold specs in his eyes visible even from this distance. Michael held his icy gaze, watched the way Alex’s straight locks blew gently in the breeze, the way they reached down to nearly cover his eyes, the way he stood in nothing but a delicate white shirt and brown pants, unbothered by the cold. His bracelet hung from his left wrist, the _kingdom crest_ reflecting the rising sun and glimmering like a star.

Alex seemed to decide that Michael was being harmless and looked away, walking back into his cottage. At the sound of the closed door, Michael fell against the tree trunk and slid to the ground, his hand clutching his chest painfully tight. His heart was racing, but why? His emotions were in chaos, he felt everything; relief, joy, grief, exhaustion, hatred, and panic. Mostly panic. There was a part of him, he couldn’t deny it, that had been concerned for Alex. A part that had begged Michael to run to the archer, to be certain that he was alive and well, that he wasn’t so unhappy as he had been in that nightmare.

Michael shook his head. “No,” he breathed. He couldn’t allow this, not for another man, not for an _enemy_. He reached for the hilt of his sword at his belt, and this time, was not disappointed. He swung his sack over his shoulder, and turned to leave. He would lure Alex out, he would have the two alone, and then he would kill him. The mystery no longer mattered. Michael would cut it down before sunset, one way or another.

*

Alex forced himself to sit up in his small bed, looking out the window as the smell of smoked deer spread throughout the cottage. He had only noticed Michael’s presence when he’d went outside at sunrise, unable to sleep as always, but the sun was well on its way to setting now, and the Viking was gone. Alex felt movement in the forest, but no footsteps or presence he could focus solely to Michael. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Why was he tiring himself so? He knew what he could do, and he knew the limitations of a Viking – strongest in his village or not – why was he allowing one man to agitate him so much?

“Are you alright?” Kyle asked.

Alex looked up. Kyle opened the door to let the smoke out, and had asked Alex why he didn’t want to spend the day outside. “You _are_ unaffected by the cold after all. If the ice didn’t bother me, I would take advantage of the fresh air.”

Alex had chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s one day, I would rather not trudge around on the frost.” _The last thing I want is to let that Viking watching us know that on this one day I am weakened._

Kyle set a plate of food in front of Alex. “I can see you are exhausted. You needn’t hide it from me.”

Alex stood. He wouldn’t lean against his pillows, or close his eyes before the sky had turned black. He _would not_ show his weakness to Kyle. “I am simply frustrated, Kyle. One grows accustomed to being invincible, and in one day, turns weak.”

Kyle touched his shoulder. “One night. Not forever. Your strength will return tomorrow. One bad day, Your Majesty, does not a weak prince make.”

Alex chuckled, and though he was tired, his heart was grateful for Kyle’s light regardless. He softly shoved the man’s shoulder. “Go, enjoy the sunset while you can. I will be fine in here.”

But Kyle took hold of his arm and tugged. “I am not going without you.”

“_Kyle_—”

“You know how beautiful the sky turns when there is no more light to greet it. I want you to see it with me. Otherwise, we will both miss it.”

Alex groaned. “You are a thorn in my side.”

“All roses have their thorns, Sire,” Kyle said as he pulled Alex to his feet. Alex steadied himself quickly, the move making the room spin for just a moment. He laughed as lightly as he could as he followed Kyle out.

Alex sat against a log as Kyle created a fire and brought their meals out. Alex felt the heavy weight on his bones keep him down. He felt as if he’d just been awoken in the middle of the night after months of sleepless fits. He was dizzy and nauseous, all the same effects of a spell, but this was different because it was never-ending. Hour after hour, the exhaustion only became worse, the desire to lie down stronger than ever.

“Do you need a blanket?” Kyle had asked after building the fire.

“The cold still doesn’t affect me, Kyle,” Alex had said, and put in an effort to smile. “All these years, and you still forget.”

“Because it’s still so strange,” Kyle had said as he returned to the cottage. “To be a human, and not feel the cold or warmth?”

Alex’s smile had dimmed, and he muttered, “Maybe I’m not human anymore.”

The sun was finally starting to set when they finished eating, the orange and pink and purple and blue seeping to black, like flowers in a dark lake. “So much color,” Kyle breathed, and Alex nodded.

“Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Did sunsets look like this in Mirolet?” Kyle asked as he watched the skies shift and change before them. _The strongest kind of magic_, Alex thought. Sometimes it was the simplest forms of beauty that helped Kyle step outside the boundaries of _royalty and commoner_, and ask the questions Alex knew he always wanted to ask.

Alex hugged his folded legs to his chest, his chin on his knee. “Mirolet had… the most beautiful sunsets. At the least, they were always _my_ favorite.” He allowed himself to lean slightly against the log behind him, taking the weight off his muscles and letting himself breathe. “The skies always glimmered with silver light. The colors shined off the palace walls, and in the winter, they reflected even off the lake. The world turned to color.”

“It sounds more and more like such a wonderful place,” Kyle said softly.

“Yes,” Alex said, his voice turning quiet. “It was.”

Kyle looked at Alex suddenly, as if having just realized what he’d been saying. “N-No, Sire, please don’t upset yourself, I meant no—”

“Upset?” Alex chuckled. “How could I, Kyle? I love it when you ask me about Mirolet. Helps me pretend it still stands.”

“But it does, Sire!” Kyle came closer and sat beside Alex. “People make the kingdom, not its walls. So long as you live, as your purpose remains, Mirolet _does_ stand.”

Alex’s smile softened. He knew Kyle was right, but it did little to ease the stabbing pain in his chest as he thought of his kingdom, and the last time he had seen it. He put a hand over Kyle’s, not knowing exactly what he would say though it would be comforting – a reassurance that Kyle’s words had indeed helped – when suddenly, Alex heard a cut in the wind, and he gasped.

“Get down!” he yelled, shielding Kyle’s head with his arm as he pulled him to the ground.

“What in bloody Tartarus was—” Kyle started, but cut off as he and Alex found a dagger imbedded in the log behind them, the hilt still shaking with the force of the throw.

Alex felt his blood boil, the exhaustion coursing throughout his body momentarily forgotten as he looked to the forest. “Viking,” he hissed before he stood, using the adrenaline and sheer rage traveling through every inch of his body to order Kyle to stay inside the cottage. He pulled his arrows out from beside the door, slung the quiver over his shoulder, and ran into the forest, ignoring Kyle’s calls to him.

That bloody Viking _dared_ threaten Kyle’s life? Alex would kill him. He would _kill_ him this time, and be done with the monster.

*

Michael hid himself in the branches. He had known threatening Kyle’s life would be the only thing to have the archer chasing after him, even deep into the forest.

“Where are you, little archer?” he muttered, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area, his grip on his sword tight.

The dagger was not supposed to hurt Alex, only provoke him. At least, that was what Michael told himself. He wanted the pleasure of killing Alex in single combat, to see the light leave his eyes, to _hear_ his last breath.

Michael fidgeted. It felt like insects were crawling all over his body and settling in his chest. Part of him – a frightened, _weak_ part – wanted nothing less than to see Alex bleeding. Michael allowed himself enough to confess that Alex had impressed him. His speed, his determination, the way he searched Michael’s face as if he could invade every one of his thoughts, and was pleased by it. As if _Michael_ was the only one whose thoughts pleased the prince. To see him fall would ruin the picture, destroy Michael’s source of amusement (for as much as he wanted to deny it, he had to admit that Alex _was_ amusing to face).

And yet, and yet, _and yet_…. There was a part of Michael that held a kind of – dare he say – _affection_ for the archer. Michael _wanted_ to see what Alex was doing, to know how he thought, to uncover every part of him. And whether that part of Michael was big or small hardly mattered. He couldn’t allow it. Not for a man, not for a strange prince, not for an _enemy_.

His grip on the sword turned so tight his knuckles turned white. One stab through his heart, and it would be over. Alex’s blood would soon soak the ground. Michael would make it quick, merciful even. Alex wouldn’t need to feel much pain.

_It will end soon_, he told himself just before an arrow hit the tree trunk behind him, scratching his cheek as it soared.

Michael barely had time to gasp before he jumped down from the large height where Alex was waiting behind another tree, his arrow aimed.

“I warned you,” Alex growled, glaring from the shadows. “And now you will die for your recklessness.”

_“This arrow will not pierce your fair face, but your heart.”_

“I remember your _warning_, archer,” Michael said, raising his sword. He tried not to think of the way he’d clutched his chest earlier that day, as the sun had risen and Alex had turned to the only source of color in a cold, barren land. He smirked. “Sorry to say, but my heart cannot be touched. Certainly not by you.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “We shall see.”

He let the arrow free, and it soared in the wind. Had Michael been anyone else, had he not been hit with multiple arrows in the past in training to learn how to finally avoid one, Alex’s shot would’ve surely been enough to kill him. But Michael was who he was, and that was a Viking who was frustratingly – he’d been told – difficult to kill.

He missed the arrow by a breath, but Alex was already aiming another one. Michael noticed his steps sway slightly as he moved, and he frowned. He had seen Alex move before, the man was as still as stone. Was he ill now? Drunk? _What does it matter? _a voice in Michael scolded. _If he’s weak, this is your best chance to finally destroy him!_

Alex shot another arrow, the tip glimmering silver with only the light of the stars, and Michael managed to avoid that one as well, just as he’d evaded the one following that, and, with his sword, knocked the other three away.

“You don’t seem at your best tonight, archer,” Michael smirked, swinging his sword as he and Alex slowly circled one another. “Has the fear of properly confronting me finally touched you?”

“Men can hardly resist you,” Alex muttered, “and now you speak of _touching_ me? If this is your poor attempt at garnering my attraction, sorry to say, Viking, I’m not really interested.”

Something jabbed at Michael’s chest at Alex’s words, but he pushed it away, hard and fast. He pointed his sword at Alex, his hold steady, unlike Alex who seemed to be trembling. Anyone else may not have noticed, but Michael did. From the way Alex’s lashes curled against his rosy cheeks, to the way his brows were always slightly furrowed, to the way he moved his fingers – Michael took notice of it all.

“And to think,” he said, “that had been the one thing keeping you alive.”

Michael ran at Alex, raising his sword to block Alex’s next flying arrow. He swung down, but Alex disappeared, and Michael’s sword was left cutting through the trunk of a tree. Alex was suddenly on the other end of the circle, though he was clearly leaning against the tree even as he prepared his arrow.

“Bloody Vikings,” Alex breathed, looking exhausted, exasperated, and irritated all at once. “Can you people not go a single day without killing someone? Do you even know the color of the ground anymore, or is it all stained with blood by now?”

Michael’s eye twitched. “_Do not_ speak of our ways.”

“Your ways,” Alex scoffed, and pulled off the tree, shooting another arrow for Michael to miss, though not without receiving a cut over his right eye.

“You speak as if you live any sort of civilized life,” Alex said, another arrow already prepared and aimed.

“You know _nothing_ of our lives.”

“I know enough to make me _ill_,” Alex snapped, the fire in his eyes too passionate – Michael thought – for him to speak of a village he’d never known. And yet, Michael could not ignore his words. Alex sounded revolted with him, and it made Michael angry. Who was _Alex_ to feel revolted? Who was Alex to judge? And who was Alex to make Michael care of an outsider’s opinion? “Beasts who want nothing but power. You’re all the same.”

“We are but the favored,” Michael argued, but why he would bother was beyond him. He didn’t have to explain anything to Alex. He explained to Elias, a child who would someday know better, but this was _Alex_. A grown man who seemed to know more than Michael wanted to admit. Someone who seemed to have seen his equal share of horrors, and lived to warn others away.

There it was again, Michael thought. The desire to know more, to uncover the mystery of Alex. He shook the thought away.

“We do not presume ourselves to be the gods, who _you_,” he pointed at Alex with his sword, “will undoubtedly meet very soon, though I fear Valhalla will have no place for a discarded prince.” Alex paled, and Michael felt some sense of triumph alongside something else that he chose not to identify.

“That is right, _Your Majesty_. If you are a prince so far away from his kingdom, and so lost that you would be foolish enough to trespass on Viking land, then you have either lost your kingdom, or they have thrown you away.”

Alex’s fists clenched on his bow and arrow, his gaze on Michael turned to pure hatred as he shot his arrow, and this one came close enough to cut through Michael’s wool, injuring his arm. Michael’s eyes widened. If Alex’s arrows could shoot so sharply, then Michael knew that one arrow would be enough to pierce his clothes, and then—

_Your heart._

Michael swallowed. The Alex he had first met had never looked at Michael with such an intent to kill as he did now. Michael had thought that _mysterious_ was the best way to describe Alex, but now he knew the proper word was _cold_.

“Perhaps,” Michael said, though his brows were furrowed and he no longer could focus on much of what he was saying, “had you not offended the gods with your arrogance and insults to their favored, perhaps you would still have your palace.”

“Favored,” Alex muttered. “How many villages have you plundered, Viking? How many lives have you taken without purpose or mercy? What justification do you give yourself when you hear a child’s screams at night, a child _you_ cut down? What justice or order is there in driving an innocent man to his knees and soaking the ground with his blood?” He aimed another arrow. “You are murderers, nothing more. Do not blame the gods for what you’ve become. Blame only yourselves.

It was over. Michael raised his sword and ran at Alex, fully intending to kill him. He couldn’t spend another moment with the hatred in Alex’s eyes, with the cold regard. He couldn’t spend another moment _caring_ of what Alex thought of his people, of _him_, and he certainly could not allow anyone to speak so poorly of Vikings as Alex had done.

Alex seemed to be out of arrows, and Michael had managed to avoid the last one as he slashed at the archer. The sword barely grazed his cheek, and Michael watched as the cut bled a drop, then healed, the skin sewing itself together.

Michael had no time to consider what had happened before Alex’s hand was suddenly covering his own over the hilt of his sword, his chest against Michael’s. Michael gasped at the sudden proximity. His heart raced in his chest in an instant – was it nerves? Was he really so afraid? – and he could suddenly feel _every inch_ of Alex against him. Alex’s scent of sugar and wood, Alex’s breath fanning his lips, he took notice of the gold specs dancing in Alex’s deep brown eyes, Alex’s strong chest, his strong arms, his fingers gliding over Michael’s hand as if searching for something.

Then Alex pressed, and pain coursed throughout Michael’s arm up to his shoulder. “Ah!” he fell to nearly a crouch before Alex suddenly spun away, twisting Michael’s arm, and flipping him roughly over onto his back. Michael felt his right hand now paralyzed, his sword lying on the ground several feet away.

“What have you done to me?” he growled.

“Fear not,” Alex said as he yanked one of his arrows from a tree trunk. “Soon enough, you won’t feel a thing.” He aimed his arrow directly at Michael’s heart.

Michael knew that as soon as the arrow was released, it would cut through his chest and kill him. He tried to think of Max and Isobel, of Liz and Elias and Maria. He tried to think of his village, of his own cottage, of the bed left unmade and the food left uneaten. He tried to think of his family, but all he could see in his final moments was Alex, hesitating.

“Do you plan to taunt me?” Michael spat, regaining some of the feeling in his hand. “Shoot! Kill me!”

Finally, Alex heaved an exhausted sigh as he lowered his arrow. “You’re not worth it.”

Michael frowned, following Alex with his eyes as the archer put his arrow in his quiver, and returned to his path in the trees.

“What? _Stop_!” Michael stood. “You have bested me in combat,” he said unwillingly. “It is only honorable you take my life, and yet you will not. _Why_?”

Alex said nothing a moment, then turned to look at Michael, his eyes fierce as he said, “Because I’m better than you.”

Without another word, Alex trudged back through the trees, and Michael could do nothing but watch. He still felt pain coursing through his arm and shoulder, but he was stunned. No one – _no one_ – had ever bested him in combat, not even Max. And yet Alex – as unprepared and trembling as he was – had managed it.

Michael, oddly, did not think of the tip of the arrow pointed at him, nor did he think of the cuts in his skin. He thought of Alex’s body against his, _remembered _the way Alex felt against him – his chest, his fingers, his arms, his legs, his _breath_. His heart still raced as if it wanted that again. Michael found himself almost hoping that Alex would return so that they may fight again, so that he could pull Alex close and have the excuse to _feel _him.

Michael huffed a breath of astonishment, falling to the ground and onto his back, the snow leaking into his clothes, yet he hardly cared. He had just been defeated… he had _never_ been defeated.

He was meant to be the strongest Viking to ever live, to protect his village, yet he was bested by a stranger.

_“I fear Valhalla will have no place for a discarded prince.”_ Michael had said the words, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if they held any weight now. Who was Alex? _What_ was he? Why did he have the power to confuse Michael so, to interest him?

Michael put a hand to his chest, clutching tightly as if hoping he could reach in and empty the contents.

_“This arrow will not pierce your fair face, but your heart.”_

Michael shook his head at the skies. “_Odin’s Eye_, what’s happening to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)  
This story was inspired by a lovely prompt from [allthehearteyes](https://allthehearteyes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!  
I hope you enjoyed reading! Back to my hiatus until December!


	3. Chapter Three. Ice Lake

“You seem odd as of late,” Isobel said as she watched her brother, her eyes narrowed. Michael groaned into his pillow, his muscles aching from his battle with Alex.

In reality, Michael had physically recovered mere hours after the fight, but his pride would not allow him to step out of bed. And unfortunately for him, Isobel had caught him coming back to his room at dawn with his sword dragging along the mud beside him.

“Leave it alone,” he had said distractedly, but his sister did not seem to want to.

“I almost asked if you had someone you fancied,” Isobel continued, her tone suspicious, “but then I remembered it was you, and that was impossible.”

“Thank you, Isobel, your input has been invaluable. You may go.”

“But what I simply cannot understand,” Isobel continued as if Michael hadn’t spoken at all, “is that you would feel the need to hide whatever you were doing out in the forest all night from me.”

“I was training,” Michael said.

“Is that why you’re so exhausted?”

“I’m not exhausted!” Michael blushed furiously, the thought that one smug archer had been strong enough to defeat him, to _tire_ him – “How utterly _ridiculous_!”

Isobel looked unimpressed. “So you weren’t training then?”

“_Orion’s Eye,_ what is it with you and your lover, and your interest in my personal life?” Michael snapped, sitting up. “Are you bored? Is that it?”

Isobel glared. “Must you be so vulgar when you speak?”

“Must _you_ invest yourself in whatever I do?”

Isobel crossed one leg over the other. “All of this insistence and sudden anger only proves that you’re up to something.”

“Yes, and Maria’s already working on figuring it out,” Michael rolled his eyes and fell back onto his bed, his face in his pillow. “So, really, one of you is enough.”

“Oh I’m not worried about finding out what you’ve been hiding,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder. “It’ll come to light on its own when it is time. I just have a strange feeling about you, brother.”

Michael turned his head slightly. “A strange feeling?”

“Yes,” Isobel said slowly. “Something about the look in your eyes. I feel I’ve seen it somewhere before, though I fail to put my finger on where.”

Michael raised a brow. It was true he’d been suffering headaches and pain as of late, and he had no clue as to what was causing it, _what_ was happening to him.

_Because I’m better than you._

Michael shook his head. Why was he thinking of Alex now? Was it having trespassers on their land that was so aggravating? Was Michael’s struggle to expose the two strangers and have them killed what was bothering him so?

He considered asking Isobel about it, for perhaps his sister can restore his faith in himself, though he found himself hesitating. Somehow, even mentioning the archer seemed like such a dangerous attempt, as if his very _name_ was a curse when spoken.

_If his name is a curse, then why does your heart race when hearing it?_ part of himself asked, and Michael told it to silence itself. He still remembered the way Alex felt against his chest, Alex’s breath against his lips, Alex’s hand on his, and for a moment, Michael thought he might melt into his wool blankets.

“Michael,” Isobel said, her voice suddenly very soft. “If it is something that bothers you, perhaps it will ease your heart to say the words.”

“I’m not bothered by anything,” was all Michael said. Isobel stared a moment, then shrugged.

“Alright,” she said. “If you insist. I am certain you know yourself better than I.”

Michael hummed, unable to help but feel the doubt of even that. _He’s not getting under my skin_, Michael thought. _I won’t allow him. He’s nothing to me. He doesn’t matter._

And yet Michael wanted to see him. He wanted to go stand amongst the trees and watch as Alex washed his face in the river, as the sun shined off his hair and turned the tips of his strands to gold, as the charm of his bracelet glittered from his wrist, almost as brightly as the glitter in his eyes. He didn’t know why, but he desperately wanted to see the archer, if even only from a distance.

Michael stood and put his coats on, only telling Isobel that he would be “out till sunset, tell Max I’ve gone hunting” before he tied his hair up atop his head, and – without his sack and his weapons – left his cottage, ignoring Isobel’s protests calling him back.

_Archer, archer, archer_, Michael thought, over and over, as he made his way to the forest, ignoring even the people as they waved hello and good morning and asked how he was doing this fine day. Michael argued that he needed to see Alex hurt, to know that he had suffered some pain, though his own hands twitched uncomfortably at the thought. Michael owed that to excitement at the prospect of the archer injured.

He knew Alex would spot him wherever he was, so he didn’t bother rising to the cliff to hide, but instead came up on the shore, hoping to get a clear view of the man. Unfortunately, the cottage door was closed, the land outside free of all the clothes that had been left there to dry, as well as the nets that had been left for food.

The water was still as glass, and Michael could not even hear the sound of voices or crackling fire on the inside. _Had they left?_ Michael wondered. Could they have packed their things and disappeared so quickly after the battle?

Michael clenched his jaw. Had Alex really left already? He knew he should have been happy, yet he was not. His fingers dug into the tree, and while every instinct told him this was a happy occasion, that the trespassers had finally gone, Michael only wanted to break that cottage open and search for any evidence as to where the archer might have left to.

“You did not leave, archer,” Michael muttered. “You are here. You _must_ be.”

Michael heard nothing for a moment, and contemplated whether or not he should return to his home and bury himself under his blankets for the next fortnight. He was suddenly very tired, and felt unable and unwilling to speak to anyone. They would not understand, and would ask Michael what the matter was, and Michael would only briefly think of Alex, yet say nothing to his friends.

Michael began to turn back whence he came, already imagining the questioning and concerned looks on his friends’ and family’s faces when they saw his inexplicable exhaustion – for the strongest Viking in the village _never_ tired – when he heard the faint crackle of flames, like the start of a fire. He whipped around and caught sight of smoke rising from the cottage only a few feet, and then disappearing as if caged in by an invisible wall.

Something in Michael’s chest jumped, and he started towards the cottage, then quickly realized what he was doing and stopped himself. He stood behind a tree, scratching the bark as he waited impatiently for Alex to come out. Michael wondered if that Kyle man was healing Alex’s wounds.

_But no_, a small part of him said. _You _saw_ what had happened when Alex was cut. His skin had healed._

Had it really? Perhaps Michael had simply been imagining things in the heat of the moment.

“Perhaps,” Michael muttered. If this archer was involved with so much magic, then wouldn’t it be Michael’s _duty_ to watch him? To collect evidence for his suspicions? Would it not be irresponsible to allow a _sorcerer_ to wander on his lands?

“Now that I consider it,” Michael said aloud, half-expecting the trees to answer, “would I not need to show a friendlier face? To become intimate with this archer – and Kyle, of course, Kyle, for he’s involved as well – to uncover all of their secrets? Would that not truly be the wisest path to understanding the mystery of these strangers?”

It would be Michael’s sacrifice for his village, to suffer a false relationship with Alex – _and Kyle_, he strictly reminded himself – in order to defeat the threat before it has become too great. A task worthy only of the greatest Viking in the land. A task Michael _supposed_ only he could do.

*

“I’ll kill him,” Kyle growled.

“Kyle –”

“He attacked you!”

“He’s the best of his kind,” Alex winced as he sat up, his recovery working slowly. After spending the night without a moon, and enduring a battle he had not been prepared to handle, dawn could not have come fast enough. He only wished Kyle hadn’t woken him at sunrise to force food down his throat. “I cannot believe he intended to have such poor aim.”

“So if he’d _wanted_ to kill us, he could’ve? I’m so reassured!”

“I took care of it.”

“No, Alex, you _lied_!” Kyle snapped, and Alex couldn’t help but be surprised. When Kyle used his actual name, it meant he would be irreparably angry for the next day or two. “You lied to me, and because of that, we very nearly could’ve lost our lives last night!”

“Did I or did I not stop the Viking?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Kyle said. “And nearly got yourself killed doing it, but don’t bother, I know you didn’t give _that_ a thought. What would happen to your faithful servant if you ever disappeared?”

Alex stood. “You know you’re not my servant.”

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “It’s very difficult to believe I’m the great friend you claim me to be when all you do is lie to my face!”

“Kyle,” Alex tried, but Kyle had already walked out.

*

Kyle hated royalty. He _hated_ them. “Self-sacrificing, righteous _blokes_!” he hissed. He picked up that same dagger that the Viking had thrown into the log, and wrenched it out of the wood. His grip tightened on the handle for a moment, then he let his hand fall limply to his side. He stared out at the glass surface of the lake, felt the cold breeze of morning chill his bones even through his layers, and he was taken back to another time, long ago, when he had been submerged in a much colder, much more ruthless ice, one that had promised to kill him even as it inched its way towards his heart. Then he remembered hands, cold yet warm, take his own and pull him to safety, to a life of friendship and love like he’d never known before.

Kyle thought of his prince inside the cottage, felt a seed of guilt for leaving him in his state, then squashed it down immediately. What was he to feel guilt for? He’d done nothing wrong! It was _Alex_ that had lied, Alex who had risked his life.

“Stupid,” he muttered, his heart aching with both a pain and a longing he had yet to discover how to end. “_Stupid_.”

“I do hope you’re not talking about _me_,” a voice suddenly said, and Kyle whipped around, his new dagger raised. There, on that same log where the knife had been imbedded only moments ago, sat what Kyle recognized as a Viking, his blonde hair tied to a knot atop his head, his dark eyes staring at Kyle with a faint amusement, as if he was eager to see what this peasant would be able to do with a weapon that clearly did not belong to him.

“You,” Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one that attacked us last night.”

The Viking bowed his head. “A pleasure.”

“I wish I could say the same.” He lifted the dagger higher. “You won’t touch him.”

The Viking stared at Kyle a long time. “I won’t hurt him.”

Kyle smirked humorlessly. “Then I suppose you’ve just come to chat.”

“Precisely,” he stood, and Kyle steadied his arm. “After last night’s battle –”

“In which he mistakenly spared your life.”

His eye twitched. “I saw something in him. And it drove me here, alone.”

“For no one else can get through the barrier,” Kyle said. “Do you not think I know that you are the only one who can see us in here? You couldn’t gather an army even if you’d wanted to.”

He glared. “You’d do best not to provoke me.”

“_You’d_ do best not to make baseless threats,” Kyle said. “I don’t like being threatened.”

“Really?” he smirked. “Well, this might be a good bruise to the ego then.”

Before Kyle could utter another breath, the Viking was an arm’s length away, his hand on Kyle’s wrist, twisting it until he was forced to give up the dagger. The Viking caught it before it hit the ground, and with a twirling motion, held the tip against Kyle’s heart.

“If you know so much,” the Viking said, “then you must know of my reputation. You know I cannot be harmed.”

“Strong words for a man who nearly died on his back.”

Kyle looked over the Viking’s shoulder. Alex stood with his arrow locked and pointed to the back of the Viking’s head. Kyle expected to see the warrior go still, fearful, maybe even outraged, but instead his smile widened.

“Your Majesty,” he said without lowering the dagger from Kyle’s chest. “I was beginning to think you’d never come out.

“Enough of this, Viking,” Alex said steadily. _That was Alex_, Kyle thought. _Always steady._ “If your goal was to fight me, then fight me you shall.”

“Shall I?” he said. “And what if it’s not? As I told your friend, I am not here for battle.”

“Then lower your weapon.”

“Sire, don’t fall for it!” Kyle warned. “He’s just as you said, a monster that knows _nothing_ but war!” Kyle could’ve sworn in that moment he had seen the Viking flinch, but the expression was gone as he’d blinked. “I would rather die by his hand then let you die.”

“How faithful,” the Viking said quietly, then with some noticeable effort, lowered the dagger, and eventually let it fall to the snow at his feet. “It is that which spares you today, _prince_.”

Kyle frowned. “What’re you doing?”

“As I said. I am not here for a battle.”

After a moment, Alex lowered his own arrow. “Then what are you here for?”

The Viking took a moment, then looked to Alex. “_You_.”

Alex stared coldly, seemingly unaffected, though Kyle noticed his finger twitch slightly on his arrow. “And what would you want with me?”

“Amusing choice of words,” the Viking muttered, grinning. Then he said, his voice louder, “Peace.”

“_Peace_?” Kyle blinked.

Alex shook his head. “If you honestly think I would believe you after all you’ve done –”

“You spared my life,” the Viking grit out, obviously unhappy to have confessed it. “I believed you to be a danger to my village, and _that_ is why I attacked. Yet you spared me, a Viking, someone you claim to hate. Why?”

Alex considered this, and Kyle was surprised to see that the prince did not have an answer.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that you, who threatened our lives a mere few hours ago, have changed your views?”

There was a long moment of silence, then, “You spared me. I do not take that lightly.”

“Vikings know no honor,” Alex said mercilessly, and the Viking’s eyes turned dark. “I cannot believe that sparing you your life meant anything to you.”

“It did,” he said, his head held high. “I do not want to confess it, but it meant a great deal.”

“I asked for peace,” Alex said. “I asked you to leave us alone, and you refused. I had told you I would bring no harm, and yet you attacked.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” the Viking said. He looked Alex directly in the eyes. “You present no danger to me or my people, archer. I see that now.”

Alex still seemed unconvinced, Kyle _knew_ he was unconvinced, and yet, he sighed. “Very well, Viking. Peace, you shall have. We will not disrupt you so long as you do not disrupt us.”

“This is still Viking land,” the Viking said, the corners of his lips curling upward. “I shall come and go as I please.”

“Will you?” Alex said, though it did not seem as if he expected an answer. He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples (Kyle thought he’d been getting those headaches too often), and said, “Very well. As you wish.”

Kyle’s eyes widened. “_Sire_ –”

“I do not think it necessary to tell you,” Alex continued speaking to the Viking, ignoring Kyle’s complaints, “that I wish for no other Viking to know of our presence.”

“We are in agreement,” the Viking said. “I would not want to spread panic in my village on account of mere – _temporary _business, you said?”

“And you’ll never see us again,” Alex said, and Kyle thought he saw something in the Viking’s expression flicker.

“Good,” he said. “That is what I want.”

And as the Viking stared at Alex, and he at the Viking, Kyle wondered how mad of him it would be to assume that the Viking did not want them to leave at all.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Kyle said once the Viking had gone, and Alex had deemed it safe enough to speak.

“I hope not,” Alex said, gathering firewood. “It would be very concerning if I had.”

“Well, perhaps it is time to be very concerned! You cannot believe he honestly wants peace!”

“Of course I do not believe it,” Alex said, as calm as he had ever been. “Vikings slaughter the innocent for nothing more than riches, they are _incapable_ of any pure emotion.”

“And yet –”

“And _yet_,” he sighed, “would you have preferred a war with one as oppose to a cold tolerance? He tries to learn our secrets, our purpose here, and it is better he be where we can see him. Michael will –”

“_Michael_?” Kyle asked. “Who’s Michael?”

Alex cleared his throat. “Michael is the Viking.”

Kyle stared. “You know his name?”

“He wanted to know mine,” Alex said. “I wanted his in return.”

“What did he want your name for?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“And you gave it to him anyway?”

“He was relentless.”

Kyle said nothing, and Alex looked over his shoulder at his friend. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, his voice quiet. “I do hope you know what you’re doing, Your Majesty. I would not want that monster to think you admire him in any way.”

Alex’s eyes widened slightly. He was so rarely surprised. “_Admire_ him? Now who’s lost their mind?”

At this, Kyle seemed satisfied. He smiled softly, though it lasted only a second before it disappeared. “He’ll know we’re using magic.”

“We’ll use it inside the cottage,” Alex said. “He need not know a thing. Before he can come to any conclusion, our business will be over.”

“Why not just go elsewhere?”

Alex shook his head. “There’s something here, I can _feel _it. I’ve been fighting for a long time, and I’ve never come this close.”

“If you’re talking about the flame –”

“Of course I am,” he said. “It gave us a picture.”

“It gave us a _shadow_,” Kyle argued. “Perhaps it only means that we are close, but not where we are meant to be.”

Alex stopped, and thought about this. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But we still need to stay. I cannot explain it, but there is something calling to me here. I will have to ask you to trust me, Kyle.”

Kyle pursed his lips. “I do. I always will. But_ I_ will have to ask that you give me your honesty, no matter how much it might frighten me. If I am truly valuable to you –”

“You are –”

“—then promise me. Give me your word that whatever the truth might do to me, you will not keep it.”

Alex nodded once. “I give you my word.”

Alex hated giving promises. They bounded him. But he’d taken one look at Kyle’s shining eyes, his clenched jaw, his iron resolve evident on his face, and he’d known he was done. He never could say no to Kyle.

_“I do not want to confess it, but it meant a great deal.”_

Alex stopped working on the fire. “Arrogant,” he muttered, thinking of the way the Viking had smirked as he’d stared at Alex, as if he _knew_ Alex would agree to his proposal. Alex thought of the way his eyes turned gold in the rising sunlight, the tips of his hair the same color. Alex had felt an inexplicable desire to move his stray curls from his eyes, and immediately scolded himself for it.

He was an idiot. The magic was getting to his head. He wasn’t a sorcerer, and yet he was forced to be one for the sake of protecting his people, and it was too much, and it was now invading his thoughts, and forcing him to think of ridiculous, irritating brutes.

_A ridiculous, irritating brute with a strong chest_, a part of him thought, and Alex shoved it away. He still remembered the way he’d pressed his own chest against Michael’s, the way he’d felt Michael’s heart hammering against his, even through the wool. Alex’s chest never ached, and yet in that moment…

He shut his eyes tight, and shook his head. The man was strong, Alex would give him that, but all Vikings were strong. It meant nothing.

“Your Majesty?” Kyle stepped out, holding a pot of something boiling. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” Alex blinked. “Yes, is that dinner?”

“Among other things,” Kyle sat down, and before Alex could ask what that meant, his friend pulled out what looked like soaked, blue flower petals from the broth. “Open, please.”

Alex raised a brow. “_Medicine_? Are you joking?”

“You never got a chance to heal after last night’s moonless sky,” Kyle said. “You’ve gone from a battle to working, I urge you to take it willingly, or I _will_ force it down your throat.”

Alex blinked. “Are you still angry with me?”

“No,” Kyle said. “I simply care for you that much. Now, _open_.”

Alex did as he was told, and nearly choked. “That tastes worse than the last time I had it!”

“I’m glad you think so,” Kyle said. “Because we’re fresh out, and I expect you to retrieve more.”

Alex groaned. “Kyle!”

Kyle sighed. “I know you hate doing it, but the flowers only grow at the bottom of a lake, remember? If I were to go, the ice water would kill me in an instant. _You_, on the other hand, can be harmed by neither fire nor ice. Your exact words, I believe.”

Alex stared. “You seem to be enjoying this.”

“Me?” Kyle raised a brow, but said nothing more on the matter. “You do remember where they are, don’t you?”

“Yes, by the rocks, but –”

“Excellent, then you best get going before nightfall. We wouldn’t want any more Vikings spotting us.” And he turned his back on Alex as he went inside.

“Are you sure you’re not still angry with me?”

“Positive,” Kyle said, and slammed the door shut behind him. Alex sighed, scratching the back of his head. Often times, he was glad to have Kyle angry with him. It meant that, even for a moment, he saw them as equals, as _friends_ as oppose to a prince and commoner. Even now, he couldn’t help the small smile at his lips.

_Still_, Alex thought, _Kyle can be rather annoying when he wants to be._

*

“What’re you smiling about?” Max asked as another tree fell by the swing of his wife’s ax.

“Smiling?” Michael said. “I’m not smiling.”

“You’re certainly giddier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I’m not giddy.” Michael did his best to school his features, and brought another tree down with a swing of his sword.

Max shook his head. “_Thor Almighty_, if I had your strength…”

“You wouldn’t be the village chief, that’s for sure,” Michael grinned.

Max raised a brow. “You think I’d waste such a gift on women and showing off, as you do?”

Michael chuckled. “Yes, probably.”

“One day, brother,” Max said, “one day, you will be defeated in battle. Let us see how much your strength serves you then.”

Michael stilled.

_“Because I’m better than you.”_

Max noticed, and stopped hacking at trees as well. “What ails you, brother? I was only making jest.”

“And yet you raise an interesting question.”

“Question?”

“If my strength were to fail –”

“Michael, it won’t –”

“But _if_ it did,” Michael stressed. “What would be left of me?”

Max stared. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Michael smirked. “Of course there is.”

Max considered this, then nodded. “Michael. That is what would be left.”

Michael had no idea what his brother could’ve meant. What was he without his strength? Nothing. And if Alex could defeat him…

“No, get ahold of yourself,” he scolded as he marched through the woods, his crossbow ready in his hands. Alex had magic, that was how he’d defeated Michael. And if Michael could end that magic, then perhaps he would have a proper battle with the archer, a fair fight. Only then would Michael cut him down.

He stopped in his tracks. _Alex_. Michael had another, inexplicable urge to go see him. To watch him, of course, and discover his secrets.

So Michael forgot his hunt, and followed the trail he knew would take him to the archer. When he arrived, he found that Alex, to his surprise, was placing an anchor into a small, wooden boat. Something suddenly pulled at Michael’s chest. Could Alex be leaving? Was it because Michael had refused to leave him alone?

_No_, Michael thought. _Alex would not leave Kyle. _It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. And _yet_, Michael stepped out of the shadows and walked down the shore to the archer.

“Not planning to shoot me with that, are you?” Alex asked without looking at him.

Michael had to push past his thoughts of Alex disappearing to realize that he was talking about the crossbow in his hands.

“Depends,” was all Michael said. _Depends on whether or not you attempt to leave._

Alex, however, looked unimpressed as he straightened. “Back so soon?”

“I missed you,” Michael said with a smirk, and tried to ignore the way his heart jumped at the words. He thought he saw Alex’s expression falter for a split second, but it was gone in an instant.

Alex cleared his throat. “How fortunate for me.”

“Off on a voyage, are you?” Michael gestured to the boat. “Do I frighten you that much?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Alex rolled his eyes, and Michael – without the slightest clue as to why – wanted to grin. “I’m only setting off for that rock there.”

“In the middle of the lake?” Michael raised a brow. “What for?”

“That’s hardly your concern,” Alex said, and climbed onto the boat. He grabbed the oars, and pushed away from the snow-covered grass. “Keep in mind, if you go anywhere near Kyle –”

“Yes, yes,” Michael said, unable to help the slight edge in his voice. _Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. Was the man capable of speaking of anything else? _“I’ve heard all the threats. The peasant is not to be touched.”

“Peasant?” Alex smirked. “Funny. What would you call yourself?”

“Well,” Michael said, and tossed his crossbow onto the ice. He stepped through the shallow water before rising onto the boat himself alongside Alex. The boat was small, and Alex seemed to have no trouble balancing even as it rocked, but Michael appreciated the shocked look on his face when he and the prince were nearly chest to chest on the wooden surface.

“Perhaps,” he said, his voice low, “_powerful_ would be the word.”

Alex clenched his jaw and turned away. Michael thought the archer might demand that he leave, tell him he was unwanted, perhaps even attempt to knock him off board, but Alex merely sighed and said, “Sit down before you tilt the boat.”

Surprised, Michael merely sat across from Alex, his legs in between the prince’s. He watched as Alex used the oars, his muscles clenching through his thin shirt with every row. Michael briefly wondered if his skin was as smooth as it looked. What would happen if Michael attempted to run his fingers down Alex’s arm, his torso? Would the stubble at his cheek scratch Michael?

Michael experimented with his legs, stretching one to the left, and just as he did so, Alex’s legs spread further apart in an attempt to avoid touching him. Michael swallowed. To see Alex spreading open in front of him so willingly…

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“What?” Michael blinked. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Alex said. “May I remind you, it was _you_ who came to us today to seek peace. The sun has yet to set, are you so keen on breaking your word already?”

“So staring at you is a declaration of war then?”

“You admit you were staring?”

To this, Michael said nothing. He looked towards the horizon, his village now visible as they had sailed far enough from the cottage. Kyle, Michael assumed, would only see figures on a boat at this distance, and not much more. The thought that he was alone with Alex, no escape for either of them, sent a shock up his spine.

“Are you not cold?” he finally asked. “In so little clothing?”

“It’s enough,” Alex said, focusing on his oars.

“That is not an answer.”

“I don’t feel the cold. There, you have your answer.”

“Nor fire, I imagine?” Alex narrowed his eyes, but Michael would not back down. “I saw you fall into your camp and stand up as if you’d merely touched sand.”

“You were spying.”

Michael held his gaze and said nothing. Alex looked away. Michael could see him debating something in his head, considering whether the Viking was worth telling or not.

“I’m cursed,” Alex said.

“By a sorcerer?” Michael pushed.

Alex closed his eyes. “Yes, Michael. By a sorcerer.” And he said nothing else. Michael could see Alex had traveled somewhere far in his mind, and he could not help but think of the man in his dreams, the one that sat at the steps of a castle of mirrors.

_“It is my kingdom crest.”_

_ “And your family?”_

_ “My family is my kingdom.”_

Michael wondered how much truth there was to that world, to that man, to that kingdom. If it was real, did that mean that Alex had lost it all?

“How long have you been cursed?”

Alex said nothing for a moment, and Michael did not think he would reply at all. He could not condemn the man, he realized, for being a victim of magic. He clearly found no joy in it himself. Michael considered that after this entire ordeal was finished, then he might end Alex’s life out of mercy, but he pushed the thought away before it could fully form.

_I do not want to think so far ahead, should my plan fail_, Michael told himself.

Then Alex spoke, his voice as soft as the breeze causing a ripple in the water. “A long time.”

They finally stopped when they were far enough from the shore, and Alex stood with all the grace of a bird on a branch, gathering a net around his shoulder.

“What’re you doing?”

“There are flowers at the bottom of this lake, and I need to retrieve as many as possible. Try not to move the boat, it would be an awfully long swim back to shore.”

“Swim?” Michael barely uttered before Alex dove off the boat into the ice water of the lake. “Oi!”

He leaned over the edge, searching for any trace of the prince, but his figure beneath the water moved further and further away. Michael’s heart hammered in his chest, his grip on the boat tightening. He’d been in this water once before as a test of endurance, and he’d very nearly failed. No one else, save for his brother, had managed it.

“Damn you, archer,” he hissed in a panic, raising one foot onto the edge of the boat, but before he could jump, Alex resurfaced, holding in his hand a bundle of blue flowers with star-shaped petals.

“Have you lost all semblance of a brain?!” Michael pulled him up, and held onto his arm with both hands as Alex sat in the boat, panting. “You could’ve died!”

Alex peeked an eye at him, and with his free hand, pushed his hair back from his face. The water splashed around him like bits of starlight, bathing him in a shining silver.

“What part of, _‘I do not feel the cold’ _do you fail to comprehend?” he breathed, and they both looked down at Michael’s hands on him.

Michael moved back as if Alex’s touch hurt him, though his fingers trembled uncontrollably at his side. _Alex’s skin really _was_ as smooth as it looked_, a part of him thought, and Michael found within him the urge to touch the prince again.

“Thank you,” Alex said, and Michael’s eyes snapped up to his face. Alex rolled his eyes. “You pulled me out, so thank you. I should mention though, I don’t usually need the help.”

Michael nodded. “Yes, you don’t seem to need much of anything.” He looked to the flowers in Alex’s hand, and gestured to them with his chin. “I hope those flowers were worth it.”

“I told you,” Alex said, “my life was never in any danger. Unless I’d forgotten to swim.”

“I was actually referring to thanking me,” Michael grinned. “I can see it cost you a great deal of effort.”

It shocked him, almost as much as it seemed to shock Alex, that the archer’s lips quirked upwards. Michael felt something warm bloom in his chest.

When they returned to the shore, the sun setting, Michael stepped off the boat first, taking the rope and tying it to a wooden post. Alex was just stepping off as Michael turned back to him, and – caught by surprise – the archer lost his footing, and stumbled into the Viking’s arms.

Alex instinctively held onto Michael’s shoulders, the two wrapped in each other. Alex was soaked through his clothing, but Michael did not care. Michael slowly set him down on the snow, yet would not release him. Alex’s eyes, Michael marveled, really did have gold specs dancing across the brown. _How odd for a man that bathes with the light of a silver star._

Alex’s muscles were strong under Michael’s touch, yet his body curved into his own so beautifully. Michael suddenly wished he was wearing less clothing, that there was nothing separating their skin. Alex’s breath fanned his lips, as his own did to Alex’s. The archer’s eyes fluttered, his long lashes sweeping against his cheeks. And Michael only wanted to move closer, closer, _closer_.

“Your Majesty,” a voice suddenly said, and Alex all but pushed Michael away. Michael nearly chased his touch, but refrained. Kyle stood across from them, his arms filled with wooden logs. He spoke to Alex, yet was glaring at Michael.

“I’ve come to make a fire for your clothing.”

“Yes,” Alex said, his voice hoarse. Michael thought the lake water must have had some effect on him after all. “Thank you, Kyle.”

“Let us go inside now,” he said, and reached a hand out for Alex.

Alex glanced at Michael and nodded. He let his friend guide him back into the cottage, his arm coming around his waist where Michael had just touched him, keeping him warm. But Kyle knew that Alex would not feel the cold. This was for Michael’s benefit, as if to tell him that Prince Alex was beyond the Vikings’ touch.

Michael’s hands turned to fists, and he took one step towards the cottage before catching himself. What would he do? What would he _say_? Kyle was of Alex’s kind, or as close as one could come. Michael was merely an outsider that Alex despised.

Michael clenched his jaw and grabbed his crossbow from the ice. He returned to the village, ignoring Maria’s questioning, _“Michael?”_ as he stormed into his cottage, and slammed the door shut. He moved a table to block it, keeping his sisters and others out. He did not want to be disturbed tonight.

He fell onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to be angry, and he was, but he still remembered the way Alex’s body had felt against his. So strong, and warm, and _pliant_. As if the archer belonged to him. Michael sat up, roughly ridding himself of his clothes. It might have been cold, but he was burning. He imagined different hands tearing the wool off, different hands pulling his trousers and braies off him. He did not have time to consider what he was doing, what it meant. Only that he felt a fire in his stomach, and had one image in his mind that drove him.

He thought what might have happened had he pinned Alex down in the middle of that boat, out on the lake, silent and alone. He wondered what might have happened had Alex had the same fire in his eyes, had he pushed Michael’s wool off his shoulders, and pulled on his waist to bring him further down. He thought of lifting Alex’s shirt and placing kisses on the man’s stomach, his smooth skin scratched by Michael’s stubble.

He imagined Alex’s moaning, his breaths the only sound alongside the soft winds and ruffled tree branches and rippling water. He thought of pulling Alex’s shirt up over his shoulders, removing his own shirt as well. Michael’s fingers played with the hair on his own chest as he imagined Alex’s hand running down his torso, Alex’s nails digging into his skin. He followed the trail of hair to his cock, and imagined as it glided along Alex’s.

Michael turned over onto his stomach, removing his hand from his cock. He did not want to come so quickly. He tried to control his breathing as he imagined pushing Alex’s legs wide open. Michael took one of his smaller blankets, and tore a hole into it. He set it in a bundle on his bed, and slowly pushed his cock into it. His eyes rolled back into his head as he imagined Alex beneath him, screaming with pleasure.

Michael grunted with every thrust, and sat up on his knees. “Turn over,” he commanded, imagining Alex turning over and sticking his buttocks out. Michael bet it was as smooth as the rest of him.

He imagined Alex’s arse in his hands, and thrusted wildly into his blanket. He imagined his hairy cock slapping against Alex’s cheeks, the archer’s hole wet and leaking with cum.

“_A-ah_!” Michael moaned as he finally came, his cock throbbing in the blankets.

He fell onto his stomach, panting. The cold slowly seeped back into his body, and however filthy his sheets, he did not care. Michael wrapped himself to stay warm, staring into the distance. Michael had told himself that Alex could not get under his skin.

Michael had been wrong. Alex had gotten under his skin, in his blood, his beating heart. Alex’s name rested on his tongue, every fiber in Michael’s body yearned for the archer, to have him close, to feel his heartbeat, to touch his skin, to hear his voice. He wanted Alex in a way he knew he should not want another person, in a way that he’d once criticized only made a man weak. He wanted Alex more than he wanted to breathe, and he wanted to die for wanting it.

_But did it matter?_ Michael thought. Did it truly have to mean such damnation? Michael simply _lusted_ for the man, that was all. And lusting for a man that looked like Alex was only inevitable.

“I must share a bed with him,” Michael said to no one, yet it felt like the beginnings of a plan, and he took comfort in that. “If only once, and all will return to as it was.”

Michael would be able to focus once again, he would recognize Alex for what he truly was – a _threat_ – and he would no longer question himself.

It was a good plan, Michael thought. A brilliant plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long!
> 
> I've been working on other things lately, but I'm so glad to have this chapter out now! I hope you enjoyed reading it, and that it brightened your day, if only a little bit.
> 
> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter Four. A Storm of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exhausted.

“I think we should strengthen the wards.”

Alex looked up at his friend with a raised brow. His hair was still damp and clinging to his neck from having just bathed.

“Strengthen the wards?”

Kyle glanced over his shoulder at the open door from which he had just entered, as if afraid of someone lurking. He sat in front of Alex, his voice low. “I think it would be wise to try the barriers again. To keep that nosy Viking out.”

Alex tried not to let his expression falter. He could still feel Michael’s chest against his, his scent of woods and mud and fire, his warm breath fanning Alex’s lips, his curls straying too close to his golden eyes, searching Alex’s face for _something_, his strong arms wrapped tightly around Alex’s waist as if unwilling to release him. For a moment, Alex had not wanted him to.

“We’ve already tried,” Alex said instead. “The barriers don’t work on him.”

“Then we must try again!” Kyle stood, his jaw set and his dark eyes unreadable. “Or do you _want_ him to return?”

And Alex heard the implication in the words, the secret question; _What had I seen last night? Why was that Viking embracing you?_

_ Did you enjoy it?_

Alex sighed, unable to hold Kyle’s gaze any longer. “Of course I don’t,” he said.

“Sire, he will ruin everything we’ve worked so hard to save,” Kyle said, his voice both desperate and soft, and Alex didn’t want to think of the meaning behind either. “Your kingdom, your _home_.”

“Do you not think you are making this one man out to be more of a threat than he actually is?”

“Do _you_ not consider what you risk by allowing him in?” Kyle said heatedly.

“Kyle, I am not –”

“You gave me your word, Sire,” Kyle said. “No more lies. You are simply too kind, you’ve absolved him of his own nature. You know the true violence of Vikings.” Kyle crouched beside him. “You are the bravest man I have ever known, but even you are not invincible. I implore you to use that courage now. Cast him out.”

Kyle’s look was persistent, determined, after what he’d seen. It was a fight Alex knew he could not win. “Very well. If it means so much to you, I will reinforce the wards.”

*

Kyle shifted restlessly on his feet, watching as Alex prepared the ingredients for the barrier. He hated it when Alex performed that spell, he hated seeing what it did to his prince, and yet he could not help but think of what he had seen the previous night, of Michael holding Alex closely to him, of Alex _allowing_ him to. Kyle couldn’t believe that Alex was truly interested in the Viking, and yet he wanted the barrier strengthened regardless. If he had had the power to cast the spell himself, he would have.

“Alright,” Alex said with a sigh, and reached a hand out. Consumed with his thoughts, Kyle had almost forgotten the last thing Alex needed. When he remembered, his heart fell into his stomach.

“Oh,” he said.

“Are you alright?”

Kyle reached for the dagger under his coats, his grip hard on the hilt. “Yes,” he said, and after a moment, handed Alex the knife. “Yes, Sire.”

Alex didn’t look like he believed him, but to Kyle’s relief, he said nothing more on the matter. Alex held his palm out over the bowl, and Kyle almost looked away, but then reminded himself that he was not allowed to do so.

So he watched as Alex dug the tip of the dagger into his palm and winced, leaving the knife inside to allow the trickle of blood into the bowl. When he was done, he handed the weapon to Kyle (Kyle had half a mind to burn the damn thing), and began grinding the ingredients together.

“Do you think it will work this time?” Kyle asked.

“Hard to say,” Alex confessed. “I haven’t the faintest idea why it failed to work at all.” He stilled. “Do you think it means something?”

Kyle didn’t like that tone. Alex sounded almost hopeful, and had Kyle not known better, he might have thought that Alex did not want the wards to work against Michael at all. But _no_. Kyle shook the thought from his head. Of course that could not be true.

“I doubt it,” he finally said. “If that Viking were to have any value at all, we surely would’ve known of it before now. Do you not think so?”

And that was Kyle’s very unprejudiced opinion. What were the chances that this one Viking held any importance to their quest? Surely Alex knew that. Surely he could not think that anyone outside the two of them was needed.

“Yes,” Alex finally said, continuing his work. “I suppose you are right.”

Alex took the bowl and Kyle followed him to the small purple flower with yellow pollen at one edge of the barrier. He let some of the blood mixture fall onto the petals, soaking the stem and sinking into the roots.

Alex began muttering his spell, another endless stream of words that Kyle could not begin to understand, but that left him with a cold chill at the base of his spine every time.

Kyle frowned. _No, hang on a second_, he thought. _This is a colder feeling than before._

Kyle’s hands trembled and he suddenly felt as if ice had pierced his heart. He briefly wondered if this meant that the wards were truly getting stronger, that perhaps this time the Viking would not get through, but then Alex fell to his knees with a gasp, the bowl falling out of his grasp and spilling the contents onto the frosty ground.

“Your Majesty!” Kyle fell beside him, holding onto him, and was shocked to feel Alex’s skin had turned ice-cold. “Alex!”

“I – I’m alright,” Alex said shakily, his fingers clawing the ground. “I’m alright.”

Kyle shook his head, his hands on Alex’s back as the prince sat up. “I don’t understand, _what just happened?_”

“The pain,” Alex shook his head. “It was unbearable.”

“Sire,” Kyle said, his hands tightening on Alex’s arms.

But Alex did not seem to want to blame anyone. His brows were furrowed, his frown deep. “It’s never been that bad before.”

Kyle swallowed. “Is that good or bad?”

Alex said nothing a moment, caught up in his own wonderings as he so often was. Kyle knew better than to interrupt him.

Finally, the prince confessed, “I do not know.” He huffed an unamused, pained chuckle. “My magic is fading… and I do not know whether I should be joyed or terrified.”

*

Michael felt sick. He’d been gathering firewood, and hunting deer and birds, and pulling in fishnets, and needlessly mending doors and roofs and walls and fireplaces around the village since last night, and yet no matter what he did, his thoughts were consumed with one name. _Alex, Alex, Alex._

What he’d done last night had clearly been a moment of weakness and exhaustion. He couldn’t possibly have lusted, not only for another man, but for an enemy as well. Someone that clearly hated who he was and all he stood for.

_“He’s just as you said, a monster that knows nothing but war!”_

Michael screamed as he swung his sword through a particularly thick tree, sending it toppling. He watched as the branches fell, as the birds above cawed and flew away in a panic. And he cursed himself for having briefly wondered if Alex had heard it.

“Damn,” he muttered, his eyes shut tight. _Cease thinking about him at once!_

And yet no amount of scolding or reprimanding would erase Alex from Michael’s mind. No matter what he did, how hard his heart hammered, he could _still_ feel Alex against him; Alex’s body, Alex’s breath, Alex’s eyes.

Michael leaned against a tree, and under his woolen coat, pressed a cold hand to his stomach. He kept it there, imagining Alex touching him instead. And he _wanted_ it. He knew he should stop, put his hand down, think of someone, _anyone_, else, and yet he could not.

Even as Michael sat down alongside his brother and sisters, the archer occupied his thoughts.

“_Michael_,” Max said, sounding irritable. “Are you present?”

“Of course I am,” Michael lied.

“What was the last thing I said?”

“You asked me if I was present,” Michael rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed. “Really, brother, do you enjoy wasting other people’s time asking ridiculous questions?”

Max sighed, and returned his focus to the others. “Is everyone _else_ clear on what they are tasked with?”

“What for?” Michael asked before remembering that he was supposed to have been listening.

“The night meal,” Liz reminded him. “Thorrablot is once again upon us, and our celebration is to be grander than it had been the previous year.”

Isobel raked her fingers through her hair. “I cannot wait until the sun has set.”

Maria, however, who was sitting next to her, was remarkably quiet. She looked tired, Michael thought.

Elias looked up from his wooden crossbow toy, his brow raised. “But mama,” he said, “Thorrablot is always on the coldest, darkest day of winter, is it not? Why do we celebrate?”

Liz smiled, lifting Elias onto her lap. “My dear, Thorrablot is more than darkness. It is a time to honor the god, Thor. A time to ensure survival for the duration of winter.”

“Fear not the dark and the cold, my son,” Max added, knocking Michael’s knees with his staff, telling him to move his boots off the table. “For it is winter which makes spring all the more beautiful. It is an honor to fight, to celebrate such a black cloud with a sword in hand and both feet planted on the earth. It is a time for heroes.”

“A time for heroes,” Elias muttered, fingering the pendant around his neck. It was still covered in the dried blood of the last owner.

_“And how proud your gods must be as you slaughter children and cut down the innocent for riches.”_

Michael nearly asked Elias to clean the pendant, and felt an instant shame. Had he almost implied that he’d done something wrong? That Elias was to feel guilt at wearing something that had once belonged to someone else? That was the point of a raid, was it not? For the favored to take what was rightfully theirs, what the gods had _allowed _them to.

And still, Michael could not shake the look of disgust on Alex’s face from his mind. It bothered him, and Michael _hated_ that it bothered him.

“_Aaaggggghhhhhh!_” Michael groaned as he stood, startling the others.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” Max blinked.

“Nothing,” Michael said, rubbing his temples, hoping to somehow cleanse his mind of Alex and his pretentious, princely opinions. “I need some air.”

And he walked out, ignoring Liz calling his name, asking if he was alright.

He walked and walked and walked, his eyes on the ground as his feet kicked at every pebble and branch that dared cross his path. Finally, he ran into another body, and in an instant, pulled out his sword, his weapon aimed.

Alex raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Something on your mind, dear?”

“Alex,” Michael blinked. He had his arrow, and yet he’d already pointed it to the ground. Michael sheathed his sword. “What are you doing here?”

Alex sighed, turning his back to him and continuing up the path. Michael followed. “I should ask you the same question. You’re awfully close to the cottage.”

Michael frowned. Alex was right; Michael had in fact come to him without realizing. He was thankful Alex’s back was to him as a strange heat crawled up his neck and settled in his cheeks. “So I am,” he muttered.

Alex looked over his shoulder at him. “You really are distracted, aren’t you?”

“My mind is a maze, archer,” Michael said, his eyes falling to Alex’s shoulders as they flexed beneath his shirt, the defined muscles of his arms as they moved, his back as it clenched. He wondered how smooth his back was, how strong the muscles. Michael shook the thought from his head.

“What are you out here doing?” he asked.

“Hunting,” Alex said. “There is a storm coming, and I would like us to be prepared.”

Alex was right. The sky had been full of clouds for months, but only recently did they begin turning dark. Michael wondered what Alex would do if the storm became too strong, then reminded himself that he was not meant to care.

“Just so I’m aware,” Alex said, his back still turned to Michael. “Do you plan on following me all day?”

Michael smirked and shrugged. “Are you hoping I do?”

“Your remarks never were amusing,” Alex said. “Now they just seem desperate.”

Michael swallowed past the jump in his heart. _Desperate._ He remembered thrusting his cock into his blankets a mere several hours ago, imagining Alex beneath him. He imagined pinning the archer against a tree now and touching his arse, slamming against it. He imagined Alex screaming for Michael to touch him. He wanted to slap himself.

“Do you Vikings not have a festival of some sorts to celebrate tonight?”

“Yes, we do,” Michael said.

“Are you not supposed to be preparing for it?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Absolutely.”

Michael chuckled, though it felt empty. “You have been in my company for no more than a short moment. Do you truly despise me to such a degree?”

Alex did not answer. He suddenly stopped, and while Michael had had the time to keep a distance between them, he bumped his chest to Alex’s back, and felt the archer stiffen.

Michael’s eyes traveled from the back of Alex’s head (his hair looked remarkably soft – perhaps it was his noble blood) to the nape of his neck. If Michael leaned down just slightly, he could touch the skin there with his lips.

Then Alex aimed his arrow into the sky, his arm flexing under Michael’s gaze, and he released it, roughly yanking Michael’s attention back to the present. A bird in the sky squawked and fell to the earth.

Without a word, Alex marched on ahead, away from the Viking to retrieve his prey.

“Do you not think other Vikings will question who it is that shoots the birds from here?”

“Even if they do,” Alex said, “what use will those questions be if they cannot find the huntsman?”

Michael stared. “And your friend Kyle? Where is he?”

Alex and Michael came upon the fallen bird, already dead, and Michael watched as Alex picked it up by the legs, and stuffed it into his satchel.

“Kyle is better with a dagger,” Alex said pointedly, and Michael had the feeling he was talking of more than just hunting rabbits and deer.

Michael scoffed, and for a reason he did not want to confess, he said, “You are aware your friend cannot frighten me?”

Alex stopped, and sighed. He turned to face Michael. “Kyle is loyal, and will do whatever it takes to protect me. Do not mistake a lack of physical strength or frightening appearance for a lack of any strength, Viking. It will be your downfall.”

Michael pursed his lips. “You value your friend.”

“He is more than my friend.”

“Oh? What is he then?”

Alex seemed to consider this, then, as he turned back around, he said, “Proof,” and nothing else on the matter.

They reached the cottage, and Michael saw that Kyle had yet to return. Alex marched inside without caring whether or not Michael followed, so he did. The place was small, yet comfortable. There were woolen rugs covering the ground, and a fire that crackled under a black pot filled with a stew. In the corner, there was a mess of objects covered with a blanket.

Michael reached for it, and Alex swiftly grabbed his wrist.

“No,” was all he said, and Michael felt a shock spread throughout his entire body at the small touch. He wanted more, his eyes slowly traveling up Alex’s chest to his face. The archer’s eyes were unreadable.

He seemed to realize he had been holding onto Michael a bit too long, and started to release him when Michael’s eyes caught something on his palm. Before Alex could move away, Michael grabbed Alex’s wrist, and held out the archer’s hand.

“Is this a scar?”

“It is healing,” Alex tugged his hand away, but Michael held on tighter.

“It has been cut more than once,” he said as he examined the injury. Michael tilted his head. “Did you do this to yourself?”

Alex finally pulled his hand away, and huffed. “Who said you were allowed in?”

Michael leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Who could Alex have confronted recently? Michael knew _he_ hadn’t caused that injury.

_Stop it_, he warned himself. _Stop giving it any thought._

“You are a strange one, archer.”

“And you are irritating, Viking,” Alex said, rubbing his wrist. Michael frowned. He didn’t think he’d held on that tightly.

Michael watched as Alex threw more firewood into the flames.

_“I’m cursed,” _Alex had told him. But why? Why would anyone have cursed the archer? Was it because he’d been a prince? And why, of all curses, would they protect him from ice and fire? What was Alex’s tale?

Michael found himself once again thinking of the man he’d seen on the steps of the palace, curled up and afraid, not for himself, but for what would become of his home.

_“It’s alright. They cannot hurt you here. They can only hurt me.”_

And he’d had that look in his eyes, the one Michael recognized in himself when he feared, not for his own life, but for the life of the people he loved. Michael thought he could brave any storm so long as he knew they were safe.

Michael thoughtlessly scratched his arm with his thumb. It was because he wanted to strengthen his friendship with Alex, to enter his good graces, to make him _believe_ that Michael truly wanted peace with them that Michael said his next words.

“I called you a discarded prince,” he said, and Alex stopped, his shoulders tense. “That was cruel. I apologize.”

Alex said nothing for several moments, only returned to preparing what Michael assumed was his and Kyle’s dinner for the night.

Finally, he turned to the Viking, his head tilted, his eyes narrowed as he searched his face – for _what_, Michael did not know.

“You are not a normal Viking, are you?” he asked, though he seemed certain of it. Something about his words made a warmth bloom in Michael’s chest.

He smirked. “Is that your attempt at a complement?”

“For what?” Alex said. “You have yet to do anything worth complementing.”

Michael wanted to laugh. “Am I beginning to grow on you, archer?”

Alex rolled his eyes and looked away, preoccupying himself with a pile of woolen coats; holding them up, and putting them down, and holding them up again.

Michael stared. Was he making Alex _uneasy_? He had not known the archer for very long, but he could not imagine him uneasy for anything.

It pushed Michael forward.

“Your Majesty,” he said softly, as if he were a deer Michael was attempting not to frighten off. “Could you perhaps be _fond_ of me?”

“You’re a Viking,” Alex said as if that was meant to be enough of an answer, though nothing in his voice held any of the same venom it had the previous times, the times Alex had spoken to him as if he were the fire that burned down homes and the sword that slaughtered the innocent.

“It is difficult, is it not?” Michael’s voice fell to a mutter as he came to stand behind Alex, his chest nearly pressing into his back. They were of the same height, but Michael could not help but feel as if Alex was _smaller_ than him somehow. It made his fingers tremble.

“To convince yourself it is a pointless venture, a _poor_ one.”

Alex’s jaw clenched. “What _venture_?”

Michael’s eyes followed the path of Alex’s hair, each lock windswept and perfect. He did what he’d longed to do since – he believed – was the very first moment he’d laid eyes on the archer. He pressed his noise to Alex’s head, and inhaled his scent of sugar and wood.

Alex froze, and for a moment, Michael had feared he’d made a terrible mistake. Could he have misread Alex’s actions? His words? His looks?

And yet, and yet, and _yet_ – Alex had yet to move away.

Michael slowly settled a finger against Alex’s lower back, daring to place his hand when Alex remained still. He stretched his fingers over the expanse of Alex’s thin shirt, a shiver going up his own spine as he raised his hand higher, feeling Alex’s muscles through his clothing.

“_You_,” Michael breathed, and Alex’s eye twitched. “You lust for me as well. I can feel it.” He used the hand on Alex’s back to turn him around so that their chests were once again pressed to one another. Alex’s jaw was clenched so tightly, Michael thought he might bleed if he continued. He brought his other hand to the prince’s jaw, willing it to loosen, his thumb brushing Alex’s cheek.

Alex frowned, yet his eyes glittered as Michael had only ever seen them do when the archer held his arrows. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Alex’s.

“Do you not wish it as well?” he whispered, and Alex’s eyes fell to his lips.

“The strongest of the Vikings, eh?” Alex said, his hands taking hold of Michael’s on his waist and cheek.

“The strongest of all,” Michael breathed, desperate to taste Alex’s lips, his tongue. He wanted Alex to wrap his arms around his shoulders, to pull him in tight. He wanted to feel Alex’s body, to run his hands down Alex’s chest, his stomach, his _cock_. He wanted whatever Alex would give him.

And yet –

“And clearly not the brightest,” Alex suddenly said, and wrenched Michael’s hands off himself, pushing them and the Viking back. Michael stood with his arms still up.

“You are only fortunate Kyle is not here,” Alex said, patting down his shirt. “He would’ve run you through.”

Michael scoffed, his arms falling limp to his side as he tried to understand what had just happened. “Spare me the fantasy, and spare me the mention of his name.”

“And what would you prefer I say? _‘Take me, Viking, I’m yours?’_ You tried to kill me!”

“I yearn for you,” Michael growled, and Alex seemed taken back at the confession.

“Have you gone mad?” he said. “Has the pain of losing in battle traumatized you so terribly that you would come to me with _that_?”

“I cannot explain it, do not ask me to,” Michael said. “But I am haunted with the thought of you, of your body, your lips –” he took one step closer to Alex, and Alex moved one step away. Michael’s fingers curled into fists. “I _tried_ to remove you from my mind, I cannot manage it.”

“And you believe a night in bed will fix that?”

Michael shook his head. “I am no fool. I can see it in your eyes, why do you deny yourself what you most desire –”

“If you really think I could ever desire a _monster_,” Alex spat, “then you _are_ a fool.”

Michael could think of nothing to say to that, so he said nothing else at all. A darkness in him wanted to threaten Alex, to tell him that he could still warn the village of the trespassers, to get angry and make the archer’s quest here much more difficult. But he found himself unable to even form the words. He did not want to frighten Alex, or anger him. He did not want to make things difficult for the archer now. He was tired. He wished to go home.

Michael nodded to show he understood, his eyes unable to meet Alex’s, and he walked out.

*

When Kyle returned with his rabbits, it was to find Alex sitting in front of the fireplace, his fingers interlaced on his knees.

“Sire,” Kyle said, though it seemed as if Alex could not hear him, the flames reflecting on his face, turning his eyes to orange and gold.

Kyle knew his prince was not to be interrupted when in such deep thought, so he found the satchel of birds, and quietly hung all the animals in the smoky upper reaches of the cottage to keep from spoiling. He checked the stew, not bothering to glance over his shoulder to see if Alex had noticed him there. When he returned to the present, he would initiate the conversation himself.

After Kyle had changed into a different woolen coat for the night, had a drink of water, and poured himself and Alex a bowl of potato stew, there was nothing else to do but sit across from his prince as he ate, the two of them in the silence.

“Do you think we ought to leave?” Alex suddenly said, and Kyle looked up from his bowl.

“Leave?”

“This place,” Alex clarified, and turned away from the flames. Kyle had seen that look in his prince’s eyes enough to know that even as he spoke, his thoughts were mountains away. “Perhaps you were right, perhaps we have been here too long.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “It is not that I do not wish to go, Your Majesty, for this land has certainly brought many unexpected difficulties and intrusions,” he finished pointedly, hoping Alex understood who he was referring to, “but why now? I thought you believed we were close to discovering something significant.”

Alex avoided his gaze. “I grow restless here.”

“But the spells –”

“Have, as you’ve said, given us nothing more than shadows. Perhaps if we were to leave, the image will become clearer.” Alex tapped his finger against his leg, a tendency Kyle rarely saw of him. “You trust me, do you not?”

Kyle stared. Alex was clearly conflicted about something, and yet Kyle could not bring himself to ask. He felt he already knew, and speaking it would only make it a reality. He should be happy, should he not? He was getting what he had hoped for; a chance to take his prince, and leave this cursed place.

Yet as Kyle smiled, he felt a gnawing doubt. “You, and only you, Your Majesty.”

Alex nodded, seemingly more to himself. “Alright,” he stood. “I will return shortly.”

Kyle blinked. “Return? Where are you going?”

“To the mountains,” Alex said, gathering his bow and quiver. “I hope to catch us a ram or two to preserve for the winter.”

“But, Sire, there’s a storm coming, and it’s already growing darker!”

“I shall be fine,” Alex said, seemingly in a hurry to get out, to do s_omething_ now that the matter of their departure had been settled. “You know I will be.”

Before Kyle could say anything else, Alex left, closing the door behind him, leaving Kyle with nothing but the sounds of the winds against the trees outside and the crackling firewood.

*

The festivities raged on, the villagers cheered and drank and danced and sang and laughed, and no one enjoyed it all more than Michael who swung back every jug of Brennivin that came his way. The pigs and horses had been sacrificed, the tables were covered in plates and pans of cod tongues, shark meat, lamb and mutton, sheep’s head, and reindeer stomach, the drinks took up even more room than the food did, and the fires burned high enough to light the entire village.

“Control yourself, brother,” Max had said with an odd chuckle as Michael finished what he assumed was his tenth drink. “The night is long ahead.”

“Not long enough, brother,” Michael had laughed.

Not long enough to take every woman here home with him, not long enough to show them just how _strong _of a Viking he could truly be, not long enough to erase one arrogant prince from his mind.

Michael emptied another drink. He had never truly felt anything for the prince, he knew. Rejecting Michael’s body was mere injury to his pride, and it was something Michael was admittedly struggling with. However, that was nothing a few others could not help him forget.

And plenty seemed eager to. Maria and Isobel were dancing on their own, laughing into one another’s ears, Max and Liz were laughing with Elias, and all around him, Michael saw pairs kiss and hold one another. Yet it mattered not, because whoever he approached seemed just as eager to get him into bed.

And so the prince had sent him away. “His bloody loss!” he howled, and others, who he was sure had no clue as to who Michael was referring, cheered anyway. He saw Max and Liz glance to one another with a strange look, then to Michael across the burning fire. Michael turned away from them, and downed another drink.

“Have you not had enough, brother?” Maria suddenly asked.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Michael raised an eyebrow at her, ignoring her question. “Where is Isobel? I thought you two were attached at the hip.”

“She has gone to get us mugs of mead.” She tilted her head at him. “Though I fear you’ve already had it all.”

“Go, sister,” Michael grinned widely, “concern yourself with your companion. Not me.”

Maria’s eyes softened in the golden reflection of the flames. “Do you not wish to tell me what truly bothers you?”

Michael’s grin faltered. “I could never be bothered. Not by anyone.” Maria looked surprised at the anger in his voice, evident to his own ears. He shoved his jug into her hands, and said, “Enjoy that, sister. I will go enjoy something else.”

No more than an hour later, Michael returned to his cottage with a woman on each arm. He remembered neither of their names, their loud voices echoing in Michael’s ears and giving him a migraine in his hazy state, but they were beautiful, and they pressed their bosoms to Michael’s body. He laid them in bed, the three of them in a fit of drunken laughter, and as they removed their clothing, Michael did not feel his cock jump as he would have liked.

_Not as it did for _him_,_ Michael thought, and shoved it down, hard and quickly. He planted himself between them, letting their soft breasts grind against his chest, and all the while, Michael could not stop thinking of Alex’s lips, his chest, his soft skin, his strong arms –

Michael kissed one of them as the other kissed down his naked spine, and Michael found himself wanting to scratch his nails down Alex’s back, to leave a mark that would show everyone the archer was _his_.

Michael shut his eyes tight, pressing his forehead to his pillow as the two women left wet trails with their tongues down Michael’s skin to his cock.

_Alex, Alex, Alex –_

“Enough,” Michael breathed. “_Enough!_” He stood up off his bed, and gathered his clothes.

“Wait,” one of the women, the one with blonde hair, said. “Are you leaving?”

Michael gestured distractedly at the women. “It’s alright,” he said, throwing on his woolen coat. “You have each other,” and he left, making his way to Alex’s cottage.

He wanted to see the archer. He was drunk, and he wanted to see the archer. The night was dark out, but Michael knew how to navigate his way across this forest with only moonlight.

_“If you really think I could ever desire a _monster_, then you _are_ a fool.”_

Michael stopped. Alex had called him a monster, and it had held more hate than he had ever seen of him. Whatever Michael might like to deny, he could not deny that Alex, in that moment, had wanted Michael to leave.

Michael couldn’t go to the cottage, but he had no desire to return to the festivities, and he did not want to stay in the forest either for fear of running into Kyle and enduring his irritating character.

Michael could only think of the small stream near the mountains he had discovered as a child, a safe haven he returned to when company came to be too much a burden to bear, and he wanted nothing more than silence.

Michael found his way there quickly enough, and knelt at the stream’s edge. It shined like silver in the moonlight, running down a black mountain too high for Michael to climb tonight. There were small caves along the mountain’s edge, some very large, some small enough for no more than a handful of people, and all pitch black. Michael was wondering if he should worry for any bears residing in these caves (they were dreadfully frustrating to handle when drunk) when he spotted a dark figure coming down the mountain.

Michael narrowed his eyes. Everyone had been at the festival, who would have come climbing now?

Then he saw him. Alex was approaching warily, and when he saw who was at the stream’s edge, he looked momentarily startled, then his expression turned neutral. He had his bow and quiver across his back, his hair was sweating from where he’d run. Michael thought he’d gone hunting, and had failed to find anything. He didn’t particularly look bothered by it.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the festival. I can hear it all the way from the top of the mountain.”

Michael filled his cupped hands with water. “I needed a moment away.”

Alex stared. “You didn’t follow me, did you?”

Michael scoffed. _Of all the _arrogant –

“No, Your Majesty. Believe it or not, you do not matter to me quite as much as you think you do.”

Michael threw the water on his face, hoping the ice running down his neck was the reason his heart was hammering in his chest. When he looked up at Alex, he saw the archer’s eyes following the water’s trail down his skin. Alex realized too late what he was doing, and looked away.

“You were staring at me.”

Alex frowned. He always seemed to frown around Michael. “Are you drunk?”

“Why? Would you like to take advantage? Go ahead.”

Alex clenched his jaw, and began walking past him. “Ridiculous.”

Michael stood, and caught his wrist. “Stop.”

Alex sighed. “Let go.” Michael’s grip on his wrist tightened. “You do realize I can force you to let go?”

“You do realize you will have to _keep _forcing me?”

“I’ve already said no.”

“I want you,” Michael said, and Alex looked away. “I know you want me, too, whatever you say.” He swallowed, and stepped closer. “Is it Kyle? Has he warned you away from me?” Alex said nothing. “That’s it, isn’t it? This was _his_ doing –”

Michael never finished his angry hiss because Alex had suddenly pulled his wrist away, and shoved Michael into the stream, soaking him in the cold water.

Alex huffed. “That ought to sober you up.”

Michael was shivering, but Alex was right. He was more clearheaded now, his words echoing in his head. His face fell. What had he just told the archer? Did he have no integrity at all?

He heard a sigh. Alex stretched his hand out for Michael to take. Michael hesitated, and curled his fingers around Alex’s. The archer helped pull him out, and they stood face to face, Michael dripping with water, their hands still together.

“Feel better now?” Alex asked, and Michael cleared his throat.

He knew not what he would say, only that he never wanted Alex to let go of his hand. Only that it was not _enough_.

Then the sky rumbled loudly, and Michael’s words were cut short. The rain started in slow droplets, but before Michael could even joke that “The heavens are crying on my behalf; they cannot believe I am to be deprived,” the heavy downpour began, and the two men were instantly soaked to the bone with water.

“Here, we must take shelter!” Michael yelled over the rain, and he and Alex hurried into one of the smaller caves. They stood inside, watching the rain as it fell.

“Damn,” Alex muttered, and Michael took this chance to really absorb the archer. His hair was falling over his eyes, and sticking to his neck. There was water trickling down his skin into his very thin shirt, through which Michael could see the outline of his chest, his nipples, his toned stomach, and the muscles of his arms.

Michael swallowed, looking away just as Alex turned to him. “Do you have any clue when this rain is meant to stop?”

And it brought Michael no satisfaction – none _whatsoever_ – to have to say, “Not ‘till morning, I’m afraid.” Alex groaned, rubbing his face. Michael leaned in. “Afraid Kyle will worry for you?”

“Oh, not now,” Alex moved away from him, sitting at the very back of the cave, his elbows on his knees, his head ducked.

Michael sighed. “Archer, it is a mere few hours.”

Alex shook his head, and stood. “I cannot wait until then.”

Michael blocked his path. “If you attempt to return in this storm, you will be lost. In the morning, I expect the rain to stop, or at the very least, lessen. You may risk yourself then.”

Either Alex knew that Michael was right, or he was simply too tired to argue, but he took one look at the storm, and conceded. The two gathered whatever pieces of wood they could find in and around the cave, and created a fire to keep them warm. Well, to keep _Michael_ warm.

Michael took one look at Alex sitting across from him, the flames reflected in his brown eyes, turning them to gold, and he began taking off his clothes.

Alex blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving my clothes out to dry,” Michael said. “What does it look like?”

“Are you still drunk?”

“No,” Michael said. “And you’d be best to leave them out as well, Your Highness.”

“I don’t feel the cold,” Alex said, looking away.

“Perhaps not,” Michael said, “but even you can’t be very comfortable sleeping with that on.”

“I do not plan to sleep.”

“Really?” Michael smirked. “And if you needed to return tomorrow in the rain with no sleep when you are so clearly already exhausted – what then?”

Alex exhaled through his nose, his eyes shut. Michael found it strangely endearing.

“Do not look at me,” Alex said, and Michael’s grin widened.

“I absolutely will.”

The archer seemed insistent on ignoring him, but _stare_, Michael did. As Alex peeled his shirt off his chest, Michael saw that it was more muscled, more defined, and _hairier_ than he had expected. He quickly took his own trousers off as Alex seemed hesitant on removing his.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” he said, and he certainly had not expected Alex to turn red.

“_Do not _come near me,” Alex said through grit teeth. Michael watched as Alex’s strong thighs revealed themselves, as the hair from Alex’s bellybutton traveled further down to his cock, hidden beneath the undergarments that the archer was intent on keeping on.

Michael was not. He stood, and removed his undergarments, revealing himself completely to Alex.

The archer hugged his arms, his nails digging into his skin as he kept his gaze adverted, and Michael _knew_, without a shadow of a doubt, that Alex lusted for him.

“All this because Kyle asked you to?” Michael said as he came to stand in front of Alex, his legs spread wide. Alex shut his eyes tighter. “Stop torturing yourself, archer. Stop torturing us both.”

“Are you so arrogant to assume that everyone wants you?”

“I do not care what everyone wants,” Michael confessed, and crouched, his hands on Alex’s bare knees. “Only you.”

Alex’s eyes fluttered open, but only slightly as he watched Michael spread his legs apart. Michael was encouraged when Alex did not stop him.

“Tell me what you want, archer,” he breathed against Alex’s lips, his heart hammering in his chest, begging him to kiss the man. “Tell me, and I shall give it to you.”

“I,” Alex’s eyes fluttered, “I… want…”

Michael did not know who pulled the other in first. All he knew was that Alex’s lips were against his in big, _wet_ kisses, and it felt _good_.

He moaned, instantly cut off when Alex pulled back, their foreheads together. Michael knew he was no less shocked than Alex at the fire in his veins, the desperate urge to join their bodies again, to taste his mouth.

“I want this to mean nothing,” Alex whispered, and Michael, whether it was because of the cold, or something else he did not want to identify, was hesitant to respond.

But Alex was here, in his arms, and he so desperately wanted to kiss him again that the words left before he could contain them. “Nothing at all.”

And Alex exhaled roughly, crashing their mouths back together. Michael guided the archer’s arms around his own shoulders, and gasped pleasantly when Alex pulled him in against him. Michael’s hands ran from Alex’s shoulders, to his elbows, down his sides, and to his hips. It was better than any fantasy, anything imagination could conjure. Alex’s skin was so _soft_, his scent so _intoxicating_, his touch so _good_.

And it was too much and not enough at the same time. He wanted to feel _all_ of Alex, to press his lips, his nose, his tongue _everywhere_. He wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, and moved him off the rock he was seated on to lay him on the ground. He hooked his fingers into Alex’s undergarments, and pulled them down.

“_Ah_,” Alex moaned, clawing to bring Michael back down over him. Michael grinded his cock into Alex’s, the both of them groaning loudly with pleasure. Michael took a moment to catch his breath, unwilling to come yet, and grinded down again.

“Archer,” Michael breathed, and kissed Alex’s neck, his chest, his nipples. He ran his tongue down Alex’s stomach, and stuck it deep into the prince’s bellybutton. He kissed down the trail of hair, and licked a strip along Alex’s cock. The sound Alex then made ignited a furnace in Michael, and he licked his palm, coating his own cock in spit.

He slowly sunk into Alex, Alex clawing down his back. Michael buried his face in Alex’s shoulder, and began thrusting.

“Your cock –” Alex breathed.

“Take it,” Michael panted. “Take me.”

All of it, all of _him_. Michael would give Alex _anything_ he wanted in this moment, anything he desired. He wanted to be the reason Alex moaned, his cock the reason Alex clawed his skin, his heart the reason Alex’s own thrashed in his chest. The stone beneath them was hard, and Michael’s knees ached, yet he had never felt pleasure like this before, numbing his thoughts to everyone and everything around him except Alex.

_Alex, Alex, Alex._

Michael’s thrusts turned wilder, their hairy chests grinding against one another, Alex’s own cock against Michael’s hairy abdomen, their grunts and breathy moans and screams echoing in the cave, hidden behind the rain. They came almost together, and for a moment, Michael saw stars in the black stone around them, Alex’s breath burning against his cheek.

Michael fell to his back alongside Alex, his eyes on the archer’s profile. Alex’s eyes were closed, he was panting, his cheeks were rosy, and his lips were red and swollen. Michael wanted to reach out and touch them. _He_ had done that. He had left a mark on the princely archer.

Then the stars faded, the stones faded, and Michael felt all the exhaustion of yearning, and the festivities, and more yearning overcome him as he unwillingly drifted to his dreams. The archer at his side was the last to vanish.

*

Kyle paced the cottage, his arms crossed tightly. He knew Alex would be alright; the man could not catch any illness in the cold, and yet he could not help but be anxious.

He sat down, forcing his thoughts to calm. There was a chance, however much he wanted to deny it, that Alex had sought shelter near the mountains and would be lodging there for the night. It had happened plenty of times before. Kyle would have preferred it to his prince forcing himself back in this storm. And he could always take care of himself, that was never the problem.

Kyle exhaled deeply into his fists, his fingers already uncurling. Even if Alex were to return tonight, there was no reason for Kyle to stay up and fret over him. Kyle nodded to himself. He would lay out his blankets and go to sleep. He was sure to find Alex here by morning.

“Come now, enough with this,” Kyle stood. “You won’t have any sleep tonight if you go about everything anxious. And for the love of the heavens, stop talking to yourself, you ninny!”

Kyle had just set his woolen blankets onto his mattress and toed off his boots when something by the fireplace stirred.

Kyle frowned. Had the storm knocked something to the ground? It stirred again, and Kyle realized that it was the four candles and candlesticks he and Alex usually used to cast the summoning spell.

“What on _earth_ –”

Kyle gasped, cutting himself short as the candles rose on their own, fixed in a star formation as they always are. They were suddenly lit with a white flame, and as they revealed a face, Kyle fell back onto the ground, his eyes wide.

He saw long hair, soft skin, and sharp, yet kind eyes. Then the flames died, and the candles fell apart as if they had not been enchanted at all. But it mattered not. Kyle had seen enough.

“A woman,” he breathed. “The one we seek is a _woman_.”

*

Michael woke to an ache in his entire body. When he remembered all that had transpired the previous night, he realized why. He stretched an arm out beside him, expecting to find Alex’s warmth, yet the archer was not there.

Michael opened his eyes and lifted his head, looking around the cave. He found Alex at the entrance, slipping his shirt on. Michael’s eyes followed the soft, smooth, naked skin before it was covered.

“Pity,” he muttered. “I was enjoying that.”

“On your feet, Viking,” Alex said, strapping his quiver across his chest. “The rain has just weakened. I don’t expect it to last long.”

Michael stretched, watching the way Alex bent to take his bow. He stood and came behind the archer, resting his hands on his waist. Alex stilled under his touch.

“We could spend the hours here,” he muttered against the shell of Alex’s ear, craving to take it between his teeth and chew on the skin, to hear Alex’s breathy moans in the morning. He wore nothing at all, and the fire had already dimmed, but Michael still felt a heat in his abdomen, desperate to see Alex beneath him once again.

“Do you feel no remorse for what we did?”

Michael’s smirk faltered. He considered moving away from the archer, keeping a distance, saying that perhaps he did feel remorse and that they should not repeat what they had done ever again. But Michael found there was nothing he wanted to say less.

“Do you?” he asked, his lips against Alex’s shoulder.

After a moment, Alex stepped out of his hold. “I confess that I lust for you, Viking. But that is all. Do not mistake my carnal desires for anything more.”

Michael had never felt his heart soar and then plummet so quickly before. But what was he to be upset about? He desired Alex for no more than his body, his face, his beautiful lips. He, also, wanted nothing more from the archer.

“Then we are in agreement,” he said, leaning an elbow against the cave wall. “You will understand if I do not seek out a union with a prince.”

Alex nodded, looking over his shoulder. He looked conflicted with something. Michael found he had to fight the urge to pull him into his arms and kiss his bothers away. What was wrong with him? Had the body pains from sleeping in a cave put him in an unusually generous mood?

“Viking,” he said. “There is one more thing.”

_Tell me what troubles you, archer. Tell me, and I will fight to rid you of it._

“Yes?” Michael said. When he returned to the village, he really ought to meet with a physician.

“I... well, you see, I will,” Alex attempted, but finally shook his head, fixing his bow across his chest alongside his quiver. “Never mind. It matters not. I assume I do not have to warn you about discretion?”

“Do you mean to ask if I will tell your _friend_?” Michael asked, and at Alex’s expression, shook his head. “No, I will not.” Then, as if to reassure him, “No soul shall know.”

Alex straightened. “Good,” he said as he held Michael’s gaze. Then he turned, hesitated at the cave’s entrance, and returned to Michael. He took the Viking’s face in his hands and crashed their mouths together.

Michael, startled, moaned, and wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist. He pressed his naked body to Alex’s clothed one, sighing against Alex’s lips as the archer ran one hand down his bare back, his other gripping Michael’s loose curls.

The kiss was hard, desperate, longing, and for a moment, Michael wondered if Alex had not been craving his touch just as long as Michael had been craving his. Before Michael could rid the archer of his clothing, could pull him to the ground, could spread his legs, Alex moved away from him, and walked out the cave, leaving him standing there alone.

Michael wanted to chase after him, though he knew it was not his place to do so. With a heavy sigh, Michael put on his clothes, and made a trail back to the village, glancing once over his shoulder at the cave floor where he and the prince had laid together.

*

Alex was clenching and unclenching his fists. He had gone out last night in hopes of an adventure, of something exciting to distract his already racing thoughts, yet in his distraction, he had failed to capture anything worth bringing back to the cottage. He had not cared in the slightest. He had seen Michael, and his thoughts had come to a standstill. Everything around him had vanished, save for Michael. Always the exception.

It was funny. Alex never remembered being such an idiot.

He took his time returning to the cottage, considering what he would say to Kyle when his friend asked why they were to end up staying in this land a little longer.

It was not for Michael, Alex told himself. He had only realized that they were leaving too soon, that there was more to uncover, and did not want to risk losing the only progress they had ever made because they had gone someplace else.

_Someplace without Michael._

Alex stopped against a tree, hitting his head on the trunk. What was happening to him? He was a prince, he knew his duties, he knew what truly mattered. He had to stay concentrated, he had to keep fighting for what was important to him. And right now, that meant staying here, on this land.

He would just have to explain that to Kyle. Yet when he reached the cottage door, he stopped. Kyle would understand, would he not? Kyle would know Alex was only doing what was best for his kingdom.

Alex reached for the handle and braced himself, and the door suddenly swung open, pulling Alex inside.

“Your Majesty! You have returned!” Kyle exclaimed, and without warning, lunged himself at Alex, his arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Oh, Sire, it was a wonderful thing! I have no clue as to what you did, but it worked!”

Alex put his hands on Kyle’s back, his brows furrowed. “Kyle, are you alright?”

“I am,” he pulled back, his grip hard on Alex’s shoulders. “I am in shock, is all.”

Alex blinked. “That I survived the storm?”

“_No_, Sire, it was what happened _during_ the storm. The candlesticks and candles, over there, they all rose on their own! It was as if you had set a spell on them yourself!”

Alex frowned. “Kyle, are you sure this wasn’t a nightmare you were having?”

“It was no nightmare, Sire, it was _real_! The white flames lit and showed me a clearer image – a woman! I could not tell the color of her eyes, nor her hair, but I know it was a woman!”

“You – you do not mean to say the spell worked?”

“It worked, Your Majesty,” Kyle said, his grin wide. “It _worked_.”

“Oh my,” Alex covered his mouth. As Kyle had said, the candles and candlesticks had been untucked, and were set across from one another in a star formation. Kyle said he had not touched them for fear of disrupting whatever spell they might do next.

Alex touched the candles now, and felt no shock in his fingers, his heart did not race, and there was no fire in his veins.

“Whatever magic it was, it is gone now.” He stood, taking Kyle’s shoulders. “You are _certain_ it was a woman you saw?”

“As certain as I am that we cannot leave this place, Sire.”

“What?”

“Not now,” Kyle said with a tight fist. “I know you had your heart set on going – I, too, had hoped for it – but we cannot after the spell has worked. We are clearly _meant_ to be here. Mirolet is counting on you, Your Majesty. We _must_ stay.”

“O – oh. Yes, of course.”

“Are you disappointed, Sire?”

Alex sighed, avoiding Kyle’s eyes. “Only that I was not here to witness the enchantment.”

“Where _were_ you, Sire? The caves?”

“The – _what_?”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “The caves. Along the mountains. I assume that was where you took shelter.”

“Yes,” Alex nodded. “Yes, the caves. That was where I was. Goodness me,” he wiped his brow. “Is it warm in here?”

“You – er – do not feel warmth, Sire,” Kyle gently reminded him.

“Right, yes, I…” Alex trailed off, his brows furrowing. “I do not feel warmth. Yet I am warm.”

Kyle frowned. “What do you mean?”

Alex put a hand to his chest, and exhaled. “I am… I am warm.” His smile faltered before it could form. “And now I – I feel nothing. But Kyle, I am not imagining it, I _felt warm_.”

Kyle shook his head, reached up to touch Alex’s arm, and pulled back, hesitant. “The curse is fading? But how is it possible that the spell could work even when you were not here to cast it?” Kyle asked. “Did anything happen last night? Did you use any magic, find a charm perhaps, _feel_ anything the slightest bit remarkable?”

Alex thought of breathy moans, hands on his chest, lips against his, soft golden hair curled around his fingers, naked thighs.

His eyes widened fractionally, and he turned away, hoping Kyle could not see his reddened cheeks. “No,” he breathed. “Nothing.”

*

“What is all this?” Liz asked with a laugh bubbling in her throat as Michael tossed three deer that he’d been carrying on his shoulders onto their cottage floor.

“I went hunting, that’s all,” Michael said.

“You certainly seem to be of a better humor than you were at the festival,” Liz said, amused. “Did anything happen?”

Michael wanted to tell her. He truly, honestly, _really_ did. He wanted to tell everyone how the beautiful prince had been so pliant to _his_ touch, had kissed _him_ with his lips, had moaned and gasped against _his_ ear.

Michael inwardly sighed. “The rain,” he said. “It really refreshed my mind.”

“Did it now?” Liz said, her tone suggesting she did not believe him at all. “Well, that is good. It did nothing for Thorrablot. We were forced to move inside.”

Michael scoffed. “Did that stop the festivities at all?”

Liz laughed. “Not really. It is why Max is still in bed. I have a headache myself, I will confess. You, on the other hand, seem perfectly fine for someone who had more than half of the Brennivin.”

Michael shrugged, trying not to think of Alex’s mouth against his, of Alex’s moans as they echoed against the cave walls, of Alex’s cock – hard and leaking – grinding against him.

“You’re grinning.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Liz said, unfazed. “I wonder, brother. You have not been yourself since…”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “_Since_?”

“Oh, nothing,” she smiled. “Say, I was so hoping you and I could go fishing tonight.”

“Fishing?”

“Yes, by the lake. Just you and I. Brother and sister.”

“By the lake.”

She raised her brows. “Is that a problem?”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “No. No problem at all. Why would there be?”

“Glad to hear it. Now,” she pointed at the deer with one hand, rubbing her temple with the other. “Pick those up, please. I have a raging migraine, and their stench is making my stomach turn.”

Liz was watching him. Michael could _feel_ her eyes boring into the side of his head as they walked, a net around his shoulders, a giant club over hers.

They took the trail that Michael had first brought his sister on when they were trying to find Alex’s cottage. At Liz’s insistence. Michael glanced around, wondering if they would accidentally stumble upon the archer here, if Liz would see him. If she did, what would she say?

However, as it had been the first time, when they approached the opening to the prince’s cottage, the forest gathered thickly in front of them, blocking their path.

“Made a wrong turn, perhaps?” Michael suggested, and pointed to his left. “The lake is that way.”

Liz’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. A simple mistake, I am sure, on account of all the drinking.”

Michael pressed his lips together. “Yes, well, it happens. Shall we?” And without waiting for her response, he took the path to the lake, and was relieved to hear her follow.

They set the net in the water, and sat on the shore, waiting.

“Elias has been asking to come with us on voyages as of late,” Liz said, her knees pulled up to her chest.

“You do not want him to?”

Liz shrugged a shoulder. “I do not know. I hesitate, though I wonder why.”

_“How many villages have you plundered, Viking? How many lives have you taken without purpose or mercy? What justification do you give yourself when you hear a child’s screams at night, a child you cut down? What justice or order is there in driving an innocent man to his knees and soaking the ground with his blood?”_

Alex’s words repeated in Michael’s ears. He had felt a chill in his bones the first time he had heard them, and has pushed them from his mind since. Every day, it seems, Michael has pushed and pushed those thoughts away – thoughts of Alex’s disappointment in him, his hatred of Michael’s kind, of their voyages and their raids and their methods. He shut his eyes.

Alex is nothing more than a body to him, nothing more than a satisfied, physical desire. Michael did not wish to think of the archer’s views of him. He did not care.

“Let him,” Michael said. “He will learn soon enough what must be done, what is our right as the favored – _his_ right. Let him come, sister. It will be good for him.”

Liz gave a small smile. “I knew you would insist. Very well, brother. I will take your word for it.”

Michael could not say why, but he felt a prickle in his chest at his sister’s words. She had _expected_ his insistence? Was he every bit the _murderer_ Alex had known him to be?

Michael clenched his jaw. _It matters not what the archer thinks of me._ None of it was true. Michael was not a demon to plague the earth and torture the innocent. He was one of the favored. He was allowed to do as he pleased. It was one of his rights. He was _not_ a monster.

But even as they gathered the nets and returned to the village, that thought stayed with Michael; Alex’s expression when he’d said, _“Because I’m better than you”_; Alex’s eyes as he’d lowered his arrow from Michael’s chest because he’d decided Michael had not been worth the bloodshed, Alex’s grimace as he had told Michael that he could never desire a _monster_ like him. It had been a lie, Michael soon realized, and yet now he wondered whether or not it had been. Did Alex truly think so of him, yet overlook it for the time being because he lusted for Michael?

“Are you alright?” Liz asked after Michael had helped her hang the fish. “You look ill.”

Michael forced a smile. _What did it matter?_ He, too, only wanted Alex for carnal desires. What did it matter what they truly thought of one another beyond that?

“Perhaps the festivities have affected me after all,” he said, and excused himself before his sister could say anything else.

But he did not return home. Michael found himself marching into the forest, his thoughts set on the archer.

_Vikings know no honor._

He would show that prince just what a Viking was, what they _did_. He would prove that he did not care what Alex thought of him or his people. He would prove he was the favored.

“Archer!” he called once he knew he was deep enough in the forest that none of his people would hear him. “Show yourself! I want a word with you,” he finished with a mutter, his heart hammering in his chest.

“A word, eh?” Michael turned to see Alex standing against a tree, his arms crossed. “A word of what?”

Michael was in his space in two strides, one hand on his shoulder, pushing him against the tree, his other on Alex’s throat, holding him in place.

And he crashed their lips together. Alex seemed momentarily startled, and for a moment, did not react. Michael did not care. He ran his hand up Alex’s shirt, stretching his fingers through his chest hair. Alex gasped against his lips, and Michael’s heart jumped at the sound.

He pulled Alex’s shirt up over his head, and kissed him harder. Alex was only starting to return the kiss when Michael pressed his lips down Alex’s jaw, his neck, his chest. He licked and bit Alex’s nipples until they were red, and kissed down the prince’s stomach, down the trail of hair leading to his cock.

Before shoving Alex’s trousers lower, he roughly grabbed the prince’s face, and breathed, “Suck my cock,” against his lips.

Alex’s brows were furrowed, a frown at his lips as Michael held him. Michael wondered if Alex would twist his arm and beat him to the ground, if he would push Michael away in disgust – and the Viking realized he feared it. He did not want that look of hatred to return to Alex’s face.

But then Alex licked his lips and fell to his knees in front of Michael, pulling his trousers down, and Michael lost all coherent thought.

“You’re on your knees,” Michael muttered despite himself.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Alex himself looked confused as to why he had listened, to why he had _obeyed_, yet at the sight of Michael’s cock, he seemed not to care. He took it into his mouth, and Michael’s mouth hung open, his head back as he dug his fingers into Alex’s soft dark hair. Without warning, he began thrusting into the archer’s mouth, clawing his head.

“_Praise Odin_,” he breathed, his cock hardening in an instant against Alex’s tongue. He pulled out, and brought Alex up against him. He pushed the archer’s trousers off, and with his strength, lifted him and held him against the tree. He brought Alex’s legs around his own waist, his cock grinding against the archer’s.

“_Ah_!” the two groaned into each other’s mouths. Michael wanted he and the archer to share one another’s bodies. He bit into Alex’s shoulder as he pushed his cock in all the way through.

He thrusted roughly into the prince, slamming him into the bark. Alex winced with every thrust, and Michael worried that he had been hurting him when he remembered he was not meant to care. So he thrusted, and thrusted, and _thrusted_ until both he and the prince came.

Alex panted against his shoulder, and Michael wanted more than anything to hold onto him until his breathing had returned to normal, to kiss him senseless until they were both hard again, to push his hair back from his eyes, and then kiss each one.

Then he scolded himself for such thoughts, roughly pulled out of the archer, and stepped back. Alex leaned against the tree for aid, and Michael almost reached a hand out to help him before he caught himself, and put it down.

“That was quite a word,” Alex said as he reached for his trousers on the ground.

As he bent over, Michael caught sight of his back, and realized with a sinking heart why Alex had winced. With every thrust, the tree bark that Alex had been pressed against had savagely carved into his back, leaving cuts and scars along his skin.

“I – er –” he started, but at Alex’s curious look, he said, “You didn’t seem to mind it.”

“I did not,” Alex said, and shrugged on his shirt. Michael could not miss the way he flinched. The blood, he saw, was soaking into the fabric on his back. It was a mere few droplets, and though Alex did not seem to mind his clothing being ruined, Michael felt he was about to be ill.

“Yet, perhaps, you could choose to be slightly more direct.”

“_‘Your Majesty, come on out so that I may thrust my cock into you?’_ Is that better?”

Alex looked unimpressed. “Your Viking friend lingered a little too closely to the barrier earlier.”

“My brother’s wife is inquisitive,” Michael said. “I think she senses something has changed with me.”

“Something?”

Michael huffed a humorless chuckle. “Perhaps it is that I am intimate with a princely archer. Admittedly, not all Vikings are.”

“_‘Princely archer?’_ Dear me, that’s not the name you’ve settled me with, is it?”

“It fits you,” Michael said. “Arrogant, imperious, intolerable –”

“Hilarious,” Alex said dryly, and Michael had to – once again – repress the urge to kiss him.

“She is not the only one,” Michael confessed, not knowing why he felt the need to tell Alex that he was different now. _Not that it matters what Alex thinks of me_, Michael thought. “Your nobility must’ve rubbed off on me, my entire family has noticed a change.”

Alex stilled. “What?”

“They all sense it. How terribly you have come to irritate me,” he added with a smirk. It was only when Alex’s eyes turned angrier did he realize that the prince was not so amused.

“Tell me,” he said slowly. “Was this what had your _brother’s wife_ on the border of our barrier?”

“I –” Michael shook his head, his brows furrowed. “Are you angry with me?”

“Michael,” Alex stepped closer, and Michael’s heart jumped at the sound of his name. He liked the sound of his name on the archer’s lips – _no_, he thought. He more than _liked_ it… but he had not imagined Alex saying it for the first time with such rage. “Kyle and I have come very far in our discoveries, and in _breaking my curse_!”

“Y – your curse?”

“If all our work is ruined because _you_ have revealed us to all the Vikings in this land, then,” he shook his head, looking more lost and frustrated than Michael had ever seen him. He wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to promise him that would never happen. But he could not move.

“We are so _close_ now, Michael, and I warn you,” he pointed a finger in Michael’s chest, “if you expose us, I will kill you myself. I _promise_ you.”

_I always protect my promise._

Michael did not know what else to do but reach for the prince’s throat again, to hold him as he had held him before, to remind himself of who he was; one of the favored, never to be commanded by anyone.

But just as his fingers had touched Alex’s neck, the archer took his wrist in a vice-like grip, and twisted his arm, spinning Michael around so that he was pinned against the tree, and Alex was behind him, his forearm against his neck.

“I do not want to do this,” Alex growled in his ear, and Michael felt a shiver run up his spine. “I do not want to hurt you or anyone. But I have fought too long, and _too_ hard, to be stopped now. Do not force my hand, Viking. Do not force me to become that which I fear the most. I do not want it, but I will do it.”

Alex released him, and turned to leave.

Michael rubbed his face where it had been against the tree. “What is your quest, archer? Tell me! What is it you are here for?!”

But Alex had already disappeared behind the trees, and as Michael touched his jaw, he did not think of Alex’s promise, or the anger in Alex’s eyes, or the rage in his voice. He thought of the blood in Alex’s shirt, and how painful the bark must have been against his skin.

*

When Alex returned to the cottage, his body was trembling, but whether it was because of what he and Michael had done against the tree, or what had transpired afterwards, he did not know.

Alex sat on a rock along the shore, staring out into the still lake. He thought of Mirolet, of the water so smooth it could have been ice, of the white puffs of clouds in a blue, pink, violet, and golden sky, of the towers as they reflected the frost and the flowers. He closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands, and heard the echoing of the children’s laughter, of bakers and farmers and tailors and fishermen all greeting one another with kindness and joy.

Alex had lost it all once, long ago, and now he feared he would lose it again.

“Your Majesty?” he heard, and Kyle suddenly knelt behind him. “Your _shirt_.”

“I’m alright,” was all Alex said.

“What on earth happened?”

“I don’t feel it.”

“That’s not an answer –”

“I don’t care for the question, Kyle, is that quite alright with you?” Alex snapped.

After a moment, Kyle stood. “I apologize,” he said, and turned back to the cottage.

Alex’s eyes fell shut. “Kyle.” The receding footsteps stopped. “It is I who should apologize. I am simply… overcome with nerves. I’m sorry.”

Kyle came to sit beside him on the shore.

“The spell concerns you?” he said. “I understand. You have not seen Mirolet in nearly a century, you must be overwhelmed with the prospect of seeing it again.”

Alex hesitated. “It is not only that. It is the curse.” He shook his head. “In honesty, Kyle, I do not know that I am ready for it to be lifted. I have lived without feeling warmth or the cold for so long. What if its slightest touch breaks me?”

Kyle seemed to consider this, then, “I will not let it.”

The prince huffed a weary chuckle despite himself. “You’ll fight the clouds and fire, will you?”

“If that is what it takes,” Kyle said, his dark eyes flashing fiercely. “I will protect you, Your Highness, and that means protecting Mirolet as well. I know what your kingdom means to you. We will find it, and we will save it together. _Whatever_ it takes.”

Alex, strangely, thought of Michael. _They all sense it. How terribly you have come to irritate me._

In the end, the prince could only nod, the cuts burning on his back, and he said, “Whatever it takes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Dreams, Nightmares, and Dark Nights

_Michael sat up in a field of roses. At first sight, it seemed that the flowers stretched on endlessly, but upon closer view, Michael realized that before him stood a castle whose walls glimmered like mirrors, reflecting the field around him._

_ No guards stood beside the palace, which was unusual. Michael approached the doors, wondering if the occupants would recognize him as a Viking and attempt to assassinate him before he even got the chance to ask where he was, when the front doors opened, and out ran a man who, even from such a distance, Michael recognized instantly._

_ “Alex,” he breathed. He ran up to the archer, the man slower than Michael had expected him to be. “Archer, stop!”_

_ Alex gasped as Michael’s hand closed around his arm, and Michael realized the archer’s muscles were less defined than he’d known them to be. This Alex looked at him with fear and shock, though none of the resignation and anger he’d grown so used to seeing. A silver circlet crown sat around his perfectly combed brown hair, he carried something tightly under his arm, and his arrows were nowhere to be seen._

_ “_You_,” Alex yanked his arm away. In Michael’s shock, he let him go. “I know you.”_

_ Michael frowned. “Archer. Where are we?”_

_ Alex shook his head, as if he did not understand the question, when thunder roared high above them in the quickly darkening sky._

_ Michael frowned. “What in Loki’s name…”_

_ “No,” Alex breathed, and Michael followed his gaze to the palace to see that the flower fields were dying and turning to ice. “We have to go! Come on!”_

_ And perhaps it was the fear in Alex’s voice, or the way he would not leave Michael behind, but he followed the prince, the two running as fast as their legs could carry them across the dying fields._

_ “Who is chasing us? What are we running from?”_

_ Alex ducked beneath a black branch as they entered the forest. “The Dark Monster!”_

_ “_What_?!”_

_ They heard a sudden roar behind them, something like the hiss of a snake and the growl of a lion. Michael looked over his shoulder and saw a deep darkness chasing them through the forest._

_ “Look out!” Alex yelled and suddenly shoved him off the road. Michael rolled against the hard forest ground, the branches and dead leaves piercing him through his wool. When he looked up, he saw Alex’s leg and arm caught by the darkness, his face red as he struggled to pull against it._

_ “ALEX!”_

_ Michael tried to run to him, but Alex suddenly threw the bundle he’d been carrying into the Viking’s arms. “Take it and run!”_

_ “Archer –”_

_ “Go!” Alex yelled as the darkness devoured more and more of him. “The curse must be set if Mirolet is to survive! I will escape, I promise you! I must! GO!”_

Michael woke with a start, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. He impatiently wiped them away and all but stumbled out of bed. He looked around frantically, but he was in his cottage, nothing having changed. There was the same silence that came with the middle of the night, the rest of the village asleep comfortably, unaware of the dark clouds that haunted their strongest friend. Michael put a hand over his chest, felt his heart race.

_“We are so close now, Michael, and I warn you, if you expose us, I will kill you myself. I promise you.”_

Michael sighed as the archer’s threat echoed in his ears. He should have been angry that a trespasser would say anything of such to him, yet he found himself only conflicted. Alex had not just been angry; he had been _afraid_, and Michael could not lose his temper for that. In fact, he found it impossible to lose his temper at Alex for _anything_ at the moment.

He fell back onto his pillow with a huff. He was going to die. He didn’t know how, nor did he know when, but it would be by the archer’s hand. Of that, he was certain.

The sun had not yet come up when Kyle had woken, though Alex didn’t think he would have noticed either way, his mind consumed with yesterday’s events.

“Another restless night?” Kyle asked as he sat beside him.

“I’m alright,” Alex shook his head. “Or I _will_ be.”

“You fear for Mirolet.”

“Yes,” the prince said, and nothing else. He had not lied to Kyle, yet he felt as if he had. He _was_, in fact, worried for Mirolet, but he also could not help but think of Michael. Alex thought of the way he’d seemed yesterday, first all anger, his body strong against Alex’s as he held him against the tree and thrusted into him, as he _demanded_ Alex kneel before him. And Alex had. It bothered the prince that he still could not understand why, _why_ Michael’s words had been enough to weaken his defenses, why Michael’s eyes shined as brightly as they did when Alex was before him, willing to take _all_ of him.

“Others suspect our presence,” he said before he could keep the words from slipping. He had promised Kyle honesty, and even if this was not _all_ that haunted his thoughts, it was enough.

“The girl that Viking had come with yesterday?” Kyle asked.

“His brother’s wife,” Alex explained.

“His _family_?” Kyle frowned. “You don’t think he’s told them?”

“He has no reason to,” he said. “He offered peace a mere few days ago. I cannot imagine that had been easy for a Viking and his pride. He would not break his word now, not when it has cost him so much already.”

Kyle searched his face. “But something else worries you.”

“Whether intentional or not, I fear being exposed,” he told him. “Especially now.” Alex ducked his head with a sigh. He was so very tired.

“And since when, may I ask, are _you_ the one that worries?” Kyle teased. “Is that not meant to be _my_ domain” Alex felt Kyle pull the back of his shirt up, and made no move to stop him. He knew his friend would want to examine his wounds, though by now, Alex suspected they would have –

“They have not healed,” Kyle suddenly breathed, his fingers tense against Alex’s back. “The wounds, Sire, they are turned to scars, but are very much present.”

“Er – are you sure?”

“Can you not feel them?”

“In all honesty,” Alex said. “I have not been in my own body since yesterday. I feel no more than a sting now.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I might have said the cold has numbed your pain. But I know you do not feel the cold.”

Alex swallowed. “Yes,” he said, his brows furrowed. And yet he had felt warmth. He had felt _heat_ when Michael had touched him. His heart had raced, he had felt beads of sweat on his forehead, and every part of him had turned cold when he and Michael had separated. Alex’s frown deepened. Kyle said that the spell had finally worked on the night he and Michael had first shared one another’s bodies.

“Your Highness,” Kyle said slowly, “how _did_ you get those marks on your back?”

Alex did not answer. The scratches on his back had come from Michael, their bodies pressed against one another. And Alex had felt heat then as well. Now he had injuries that were not to heal and disappear as they always did, but have stayed to heal as if Alex’s body was not cursed at all. As if he was an ordinary man.

“Your skin is torn, yet your shirt is not,” Kyle went on. “Were you… were you _undressed_?”

Alex tapped his knee. Could he be losing his mind? Was what he was considering true? Did sharing a bed (or a cave or a tree, Alex had not particularly minded either) somehow affect the spell?

“Why – why were you undressed in the forest?”

Alex sighed, stilling his thoughts. “Do you not trust me?”

“You can’t tell me, can you?”

“So that’s a no, then?”

“Oh,” he breathed, the corner of his lips quirking upward in a disbelieving grin. It seemed sad somehow. “You _won’t_ tell me.”

Alex swallowed, and looked away. His shirt was released, falling back down to hide his scars as Kyle stood.

“I am – er –” Kyle started, pointing to the forest. “I’m to retrieve some medicinal herbs, for your scars,” he clarified. “There ought to be some by the mountains.”

Alex stood. At the look on Kyle’s face – hesitation, fear, dread to confess what Alex supposed his friend had already discovered – Alex found he no longer wanted to dwell in his thoughts, to think of Michael. Not now, when his greatest brother was clearly so distressed.

“Such a trip will take you all day,” Alex said. “I should go, it is much faster and safer –”

“I learned well,” Kyle said, his voice notably lighter. “I know how to keep hidden. I will set off immediately.”

“Kyle –” Alex tried, but Kyle had already returned to the cottage. What would he even have said if he had stopped him? He knew he craved nothing from Michael except his body, and yet, he found himself unable to confess the carnal desire to the one he was closest to.

But it was alright. It was nothing. He was embarrassed, that was all, and how could he not be? He allowed himself to be attracted to a _Viking_ who feels no compassion or remorse for his actions, and that mistake was to be the downfall of his plans, of everything he had worked for since the very _moment_ he left Mirolet.

_But will it be your downfall?_ a small voice argued. _Or will it save your home?_

Alex considered Michael again, for he found it very difficult to consider anything else as of late. Michael’s eyes, his lips, his warmth – and his heart jumped. Alex gasped and pressed a hand to his chest.

“What on _earth_…” he muttered, not knowing what else to say. He thought of Michael, yesterday, similarly at a loss for words. Alex wondered if he had been too cruel with the Viking, if he had blamed him for too much, if his anger at Michael could not have – in reality – been his own fear of finally saving Mirolet, just as it had been with Kyle.

Alex groaned, his head falling into his hands. He realized, with a cruel irony that he was certain was _meant_ to be funny, though he could not fathom how he could ever think it so, that even with the curse and his journey having been the way it was, until he met the blasted Viking, his life had been fairly simple.

If there was one thing Michael knew about his friend Maria, it was that she took notice of _everything_. She wasn’t like Liz, always eager to learn and explore, and she wasn’t like Isobel who – if the matter did not concern her – paid no mind to whether or not you told her. Maria just _noticed_ and _knew_, and she was so used to knowing that Michael suspected the only reason she insisted on following him around _now_, as he roamed the village carrying on with his errands, was that this _once_, she did not know what was going on, and it was driving her mad.

“Have you nothing else to do today?” Michael finally snapped as Maria spent the past _two hours_ glaring at him while he gathered the fish.

“No, I’m not opening the bakery,” Maria said sweetly, leaning back on her palms. “I’ve decided to take some time off, spend it with my brother.”

“How fortunate for me,” Michael grumbled.

“This could all end a lot quicker if you just tell me what it is you are hiding,” she sang.

Michael stilled momentarily. Alex’s anger was all too clear in his mind. He had been afraid, Michael was certain of it. He had been afraid of what Michael could have nearly cost him, though Michael had no clue as to what that was. He did, however, have his suspicions, but knew they would never be resolved until he managed to talk to the archer, and he could hardly do that with Maria following his every step.

Michael had to see Alex. To tell him he meant no harm, that he would not risk what seemingly mattered so much to the prince. He did not know why, and he was too tired to care. He just knew he wanted Alex to know.

“Michael! Michael!”

Michael watched as a young boy only a few inches shorter than him came running up to them. His wool coat was falling off his shoulders, he looked panicked.

“What ails you, lad?” Michael stood.

“Come quick! The chief told me to hurry! The village! The big well –”

“Calm yourself,” Michael said, already drying his hands on his own wool coat. “Lead the way, boy.”

He ran, and Michael and Maria exchanged the briefest glance before following him.

They returned to the village square where everyone had gathered around the large watering well in the very center, muttering worriedly to one another. They parted for Michael and Maria, and as the two came closer, they gasped. There Max and Liz were, crouched beside what looked like black blood staining the well’s stones. It wasn’t much, but it was certainly enough to cause worry throughout the peaceful and quiet village.

“Brethren,” Liz called out with a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Sisters! Be calm!”

“How can we, when such a darkness was not here last night!” one of the villagers called out. “What is this evil, sister?”

“Nothing to fear,” Liz said calmly. “Trust your chief. He has protected this village from harm many a great, long years. Have faith that he can protect you now. He _knows_ what to do.”

“We haven’t the faintest idea what to do,” Max said grimly, his voice low after everyone had returned to their own cottages, tending to their businesses, but not without a concerned glance and a mutter over their shoulders. “We don’t even know what it _is_.”

Michael crouched beside the wall, examining the stone. He brought a hand close to the black blood, but it was yanked away at once.

“Have you lost all sense?” Max warned. “Don’t _touch_ it, we know not what it can do.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Michael said.

“Neither have I,” Max sighed, and after a silent conversation with his wife, they seemed to agree on something, and Max nodded. “Whatever it is, let us hope it does not touch the inside of the well. If it contaminates the water, we are lost.”

As Isobel came running with several buckets and jugs, Liz kissed Max’s cheek and went off to their cottage to gather more buckets.

“You’re preserving the water,” Michael said, unable to help but notice that Maria had gone terribly silent. He wished she would make a joke now, reassure everyone that there was nothing to fear, that the problem was not so great.

“What we can of it,” Max said as he began tying ropes and lowering the buckets into the water. “It’s just a precaution, Michael.”

“Precaution,” Michael muttered with a dread climbing his chest. Of all the problems he had expected today, this was not one of them.

“Maria, what’s wrong?” Isobel asked, and Michael looked to Maria with furrowed brows to find her staring at the black stain with an unreadable expression. She didn’t answer until Isobel touched her arm, and she nearly jumped in surprise. “Be calm, darling. Be calm,” Isobel muttered soothingly, concerned as she held Maria’s face in her hands, forcing her to hold her gaze.

After a moment, Maria’s eyes locked with Isobel’s, and her arms came up to Isobel’s arms, holding tightly. “Isobel, I – I feel ill.”

Isobel nodded, and mustered what Michael assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile, though the concern in her eyes did not fade. She wrapped an arm around Maria’s shoulders, Maria holding onto her wrist, unwilling to let go. Isobel gave him a look as if to say, She is troubled, I will take her home. He nodded with a pat to Maria’s back.

Michael looked at the black stain, and could not help but feel that it looked very familiar, but his thoughts were cut short by his brother, calling him to help gather as much water as he could.

Alex woke in a cold sweat, his heart racing. He fought against the blanket that covered him before he realized he’d been having a nightmare, and was safe in his cottage. His eyes went from the thin fabric covering him to the open door.

_Kyle_. He always covered Alex while he slept, presumably because he thought the prince would suddenly freeze in the middle of the night. He had to have done it before he left. Alex was glad to know that he at least was not upset with him as he’d feared.

Alex found, however, that this time when he pushed the thin fabric off, he felt a slight chill on his arms. It was gone in an instant, and Alex was left with a lump in his throat and his head in a mess of thoughts that made less and less sense the more he tried to tie them together.

He had dreamt of Michael, had seen the Viking’s gold curls as he stood in the firelight, the sky pitch black around him. He had reached a hand out for Alex, and Alex – for reasons he still could not understand – had trusted him fully in this dream. He had reached for him only to see him vanish in an instant, consumed by the darkness that haunted the prince’s memories.

Alex shut his eyes, as if it was enough to ward off the hauntings.

“It was a dream,” he muttered. “Nothing more. Really, Alex, pull yourself together.”

And yet even as he said the words, they felt like a lie. Alex forced himself up, and stepped out to find the Viking Michael standing on the shore, his back to Alex as he silently watched the still waters.

“Napping before noon,” Michael drawled. “My, are all royals so lazy?”

Alright, Alex thought. Perhaps not so silent.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and Michael finally turned to look at him. There was something strange about the way his eyes followed Alex. It reminded the prince of Kyle checking him for injuries, but not wanting Alex to know he was doing it.

Michael straightened when Alex came close enough, his eyes meeting the prince’s. “You owe me an apology.”

Alex blinked. “_Pardon_ me?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said leisurely. “You have yet to earn a pardon, have you? I can, however, think of a few ways you could.”

Alex very pointedly ignored the heat crawling up his neck, and crossed his arms. “I don’t _want_ your pardons, Viking.”

“_Really_, Alex,” he said, and Alex cursed his heart for skipping a beat at the sound of his name on the Viking’s tongue. “I think we’ve gotten intimate enough to use one another’s names.”

Alex raised a brow. “Are you drunk again?”

“Would it be easier for you if I was?” Michael asked. “I assure you, drunk or not, I give myself to you quite willingly.”

“Drunk it is, then.”

“Am not,” he said, and looked around.

“Afraid Kyle will see you?”

“You think I’m afraid of that twig?”

“I think you would be wise to be.”

“Bah,” Michael waved him off, and returned to watching the water. Alex contemplated just returning to the cottage and ignoring the Viking when he spoke again, “Your quest. What’s it for, Alex?”

Alex stilled. “Do you think because you know my name that you deserve to know everything else?”

But Michael must have heard the lack of enthusiasm in his voice because he faced the prince again, and repeated, “What is it for, Alex?”

Alex looked away. He should’ve ignored Michael, told him to leave, to never bother him again. But something in his chest had warmed when he found Michael on the shore, and he found he didn’t want him to go anywhere.

He settled on a log with a sigh. “I am tired, Michael. If I were to tell you, would you give me your word that you will not hinder me?”

Michael sat beside him, his elbows on his knees, his hands interlaced. “I thought you couldn’t trust the word of a Viking.”

Alex shook his head. “And yet you are an exception I cannot explain.”

He felt Michael go still beside him, but the prince did not dare look at him. He thought for the briefest moment that perhaps Michael would mock him, tell him it was impossible.

“You have my word, Alex,” Michael said, his voice softer than Alex ever thought it capable of being.

And Alex wanted to blame his exhaustion, and the injury to his back that had yet to completely heal. Whatever the excuse, he spoke.

“My kingdom…”

“The glass kingdom,” Michael said, and Alex’s head snapped to him.

“How could you possibly…”

“A dream,” Michael explained. “I cannot say why, but I dream of you, archer, of a time in the past, I think… In this dream, you are always afraid of… the monsters inside the castle…”

When Alex said nothing, Michael raised a brow. “Have you nothing to say?”

“About your dreams of me?” Alex sighed, thinking of the spell that had worked when he and Michael had come together, of the questions dominating his thoughts since yesterday, of his _own_ dreams of the Viking. “I only wish I could say I was surprised, but – for reasons I have yet to decipher, you and I are connected.”

Michael was silent a moment, then, “_Connected_.”

Alex rolled his eyes, and began to stand. “I’m leaving.”

“No no, I was only joking,” Michael said quickly, one hand on Alex’s arm, the other around his waist, tugging him back down. When Alex was seated, he shook off Michael’s touch, but the Viking kept a hand on the small of his back. “Don’t be so angry. Go on.”

“If you’re not going to take this seriously –”

“Alex, I am,” Michael said, and there was no teasing or twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He was listening. “Please. Go on.”

Alex pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, his eyes on the lake for he struggled to meet the Viking’s.

“You were right about one thing, Michael. I _am_ an abandoned prince.”

“Alex –”

“Let me finish.” When Michael was silent again, Alex continued. “I am abandoned by time. My father… was not a good ruler. He was kind sometimes, just sometimes… then there were those with magic who saw no mercy from him. I know you can never agree with me, but… not all magic is bad, Michael. Some are born with it, and they cannot help but be born with it.”

“Like you?” Michael said quietly, and Alex faced him. He was watching Alex intently, an unreadable look in his eyes. Alex said nothing, but it seemed to be enough of an answer.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Michael did not respond, but then Alex felt the Viking’s hand slide from the small of his back around his waist. “Go on,” he urged, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just go on, Alex.”

Alex swallowed, keeping focused on the still water. “Magic was a curse, to my father. He intended to kill it, wherever he found it. For years of my life, my physician, so close to my mother, she could’ve been her sister, used her book of spells to shield me from him. I never understood _why_… and then I did. I saw innocent people – women, children, hardworking, _good_ men executed mercilessly.” He shook his head. “I felt like a coward, hiding under the cruel king’s reign.

“My brothers suspected me, though they never dared speak the words aloud. My magic was out of control. I could never train, so I could never stop it when spells unleashed themselves against my will. If I got angry, or scared, or sad… something always happened. I lived… in _fear_ of my own father… every second of _every_ day was a nightmare waiting to unfold itself. You cannot imagine what that’s like.

“Then he discovered me.” Alex felt Michael tense against him, but he went on. “My brother had fallen ill, and was dying. I used magic to save him. Simple healing magic, a small spell I’d read from my aunt’s book. I haven’t used it since.” Alex exhaled a shuddering breath. “I thought father would run me through right then and there… but he was _afraid_. He locked me in the dungeons below the castle for _weeks_, with little to no food or water. He thought the best way to get _rid_ of magic… was to have it.

“And he got it. He took those from the village with magic, and threw them into the dungeons with me. He threatened the lives of their loved ones, promised death if these sorcerers did not give him what they had. They did, and it – it killed them all. Innocent people died at my feet as he _bled_ them dry. But he never demanded it of me. I don’t know why.

“One day, one of my elder brothers, Flint, came to me in the cells. He looked at me with disgust, as if I’d betrayed the kingdom and destroyed the imagined peace within it. But he threw a note at me through the bars, a piece of parchment. It had a spell from my aunt, a way to escape. My father had taken the book of spells, _that’s_ how he was able to steal others’ magic. I left the dungeons, took the book, and ran. My father was so powerful then, he was no longer a man. I could not recognize him, Michael. I’d always known he was a monster, but to _see _it –”

Alex stopped on a sharp gasp, blinking several times. When he could find his voice, he resumed. “I ran, and he caught me. He confessed that he’d been gathering magic to perform one spell, the greatest of all; immortality. He was not a sorcerer by birth, and so he needed others’ magic to perform such an enchantment. He could live forever, never to be harmed or killed by any weapon or magic…. He said he was doing it to keep Mirolet alive and pure, that he was willing to sacrifice his own purity to magic to keep our land safe from it. That is my kingdom, Michael. The Land of Mirrors. One’s true nature was always revealed in Mirolet. I had no idea my own father’s could be so dark….

“The spell bended the very fabric of nature; _no one_ should have that much power. It was so dangerous and unstable, it could only be performed once every one-hundred years.” Alex shrugged, his muscles as heavy as lead. “I’d read that book millions of times, I knew every spell by heart. I wasn’t going to give my father that much magic. So in a moment of panic, I performed the spell on myself.”

He felt Michael’s fingers tighten on his waist, his voice grave as he said, “Immortality. That’s your curse?”

Alex nodded. “That’s my curse.”

“So… you can’t be harmed or –”

“Why?” Alex asked, and felt a small tug at the corner of his lips. “Worried I can’t be killed?” Michael said nothing, and Alex sighed, his eyes falling shut. “Fear not, Viking. I was not strong enough to cast the curse completely. Something went wrong. Fire and ice won’t harm me, and cuts on my skin will heal, but performing magic, no matter how small the spell, could kill me. Even now, it exhausts me greatly.”

Alex cleared his throat. “’Course, I didn’t know that at first. I tried drowning myself, I tried chopping off my own head, I tried running a blade through my heart. And,” he smiled bitterly, “as you can see, none of it worked.” He felt Michael move closer, the Viking’s chest against his arm, as if trying to reassure himself Alex was still there, alive and in his grasp, though Alex could not imagine why such a thing would be a comfort.

“And Kyle?” Michael asked as if it was the last thing he wanted to ask. “Is he also…”

Alex shook his head. “I found him, as a boy, near two decades ago. His entire village had been burned by a lightning storm, and he was the sole survivor. I saved him, and he has been at my side since.”

“Two decades… you really don’t age? You really are immortal, then?”

“My curse,” Alex nodded. “Until I find the person whom the book of spells has declared as Mirolet’s savior. My kingdom is lost, Michael. Its king has become a monster of the dark, and it has been dragged into the shadows, hidden from everyone. Even me.”

“That is your quest then? To find this person?”

“And save my people. _All_ of them.” And at those words, Alex gave Michael a resolute glare, daring him to say that people with magic were not people worth saving at all. Michael said no such thing.

“What happens when you do?”

Alex’s brows furrowed. Not _if_, Michael said. _When_. It was silly to be comforted by a single word, but Alex’s heart warmed silently, and he cleared his throat. “I return home. I restore Mirolet to what it once was, when my mother had ruled; a kind home for all who lived in it. I am ashamed to say that… I had not been searching this entire century. I had tried in the beginning, then a few decades later I had given up, forgotten what Mirolet was, what I was even fighting for.”

“Until Kyle?” And something in Michael’s tone made Alex sit straighter, his chin jutted out.

“_Yes_. I had once called Kyle proof, _Viking_. Well, he is proof that I have a heart. That I am a _prince_. And that there are people who are waiting for me. I do not intend to let them down.”

When he had finished speaking, the two were submerged in a deep silence, nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees, and the softly rippling water of the lake.

“What I feel for you,” Michael suddenly said, and Alex froze, holding his breath. “Is it an enchantment?”

His voice was quiet, yet strong enough to shatter whatever wall was keeping him and Alex apart, whatever lies they had convinced themselves weren’t true, whatever feelings they pretended weren’t there. Alex did not know how he felt about Michael, but it was more than lust. It was – simply – _more_.

Alex was surprised to hear that he did not sound hopeful. Michael did not _want _what he ‘felt’ for Alex to be inauthentic.

“Would you…” Alex started, careful with his words. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t?”

“Why would I?” and he did not sound angry or accusatory, but almost pleading, as if he wanted that to be truth. Alex did not know how he felt about that.

“Because if… what you _feel_ for me is an enchantment, then… I have also enchanted myself without knowing it.”

Alex wouldn’t dare look at him, his nails digging painfully into his hands. They wouldn’t leave a mark, he knew they wouldn’t, yet he wished they would. He wanted to remember this moment, so that when Michael turned away from him, he would know just how dangerous it was to feel for someone else, to care for anyone. Not that Alex cared for Michael. He didn’t know what he felt, and though he knew it was strong, it could not have been so strong as care or….

Alex shook the thought from his head immediately. It was ridiculous. He did not, could not, _would never_ _love_ a Viking. He did not think he had it in him to love _anyone_ in that way.

He felt Michael’s fingers come up to hold his jaw, his hands bare, his skin warmer than it should’ve been in this cold, and inhaled slowly as his head was turned toward the Viking.

He thought Michael was going to kiss him, then his hand came around Alex’s neck, and gripped his hair tightly. His grip was rough, strong, and comforting at the same time. He pressed their foreheads together, and Alex looked down, not knowing what else to do.

“I will help you finish your quest. I will help you save your kingdom. And then… then you will leave. You and your friend. And you will never come back.”

Alex looked up, trying to pull away, but Michael’s grip tightened, holding him in place. “I cannot bear your magic, archer, I _cannot_. It is not my way, and I do not accept it, and yet… and _yet_ I cannot part with you either. But I _have_ to do what is best for my village, Alex, just as you must do what is best for your kingdom.”

Alex nodded as much as he could. He’d never felt this fire in his chest, and could swear that the heat returned to his body as long as Michael touched him. He could not waste time worrying about what it was, considering what to call it. He only wanted to kiss Michael, to feel his lips, his hands on him. He wanted all of Michael, and he wanted it _now_.

Michael must’ve felt the same because he came close enough that his breath fanned across Alex’s lips, his eyes half-lidded.

“But until then…”

“Until then?”

Michael wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, and pulled him in against his chest. “I will not let you go. Not for a moment.” He barely finished that sentence before Alex pulled him in, crashing their lips together.

Neither of them had wanted to be apart, Alex could feel that in the press of Michael’s lips, Michael’s fingers in his hair, Michael’s hand traveling up his spine, higher, _higher_ until –

Alex winced, pulling away. The scars on his back felt fresher, and they _hurt_, but Alex enjoyed the pain. It sent a stinging burn throughout his entire body that had him exhaling on a shudder.

Michael must’ve misunderstood it because he pulled away instantly. “What’s wrong?” he breathed. “What is it?”

Alex shook his head, interlocking his hands behind Michael’s neck. “Nothing. Nothing. Kiss me, Viking.”

Michael kissed him, and _kissed_ him, pulling him deeper with every passing second, turning hungrier and hungrier with every press of his mouth. But then he touched Alex’s back, and for some reason, the scars hurt even worse. And Alex _wanted_ it, he craved it.

“Don’t,” he said as Michael tried to pull away.

“Your back, the cuts,” Michael shook his head. “They – they haven’t healed. They still hurt you.”

This time, it was Alex’s turn to hold onto Michael’s curls. “_Good_. I have spent a _century_ completely _painless_. I need to feel you, Michael. Let me feel you.”

Michael’s eyes turned dark as he searched Alex’s face. He might’ve muttered Alex’s name, but Alex didn’t hear it because Michael had turned them both around, letting himself lie on the ground with Alex atop of him.

“Kiss me, then, archer,” Michael said, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist, digging his fingers into the prince’s back.

He hissed, the sound swallowed by Michael’s lips. They moaned into each other’s mouths, and as Alex felt Michael’s hands go up his shirt, he sighed into his shoulder, content.

“I did this to you,” Michael breathed even as Alex kissed him over and over, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against the Viking’s. “I… Alex…”

“Are you going to fuck me, or not?” Alex said, and bit Michael’s lower lip, reveling in the man’s groan.

“N-not here,” Michael said, and Alex’s heart jumped. Was the greatest Viking in the land _stammering_? “I, unlike you, Your Highness, can feel the cold.”

Alex glanced up at the cottage, and smirked. He kissed Michael once, twice, then said, “I can fix that.”

Michael often did not remember heated nights with lovers, but he remembered every single _second_ with Alex. He remembered the man’s strong chest, his arms, his _cock_. He remembered Alex’s eyes glittering in the firelight, his skin turned to gold in the flames. There was no moon tonight, but the archer was illuminating. He remembered Alex’s moans, his nails digging down Michael’s back, his whispered pleas in Michael’s ear, hot and heavy and _pleading_.

Michael thrusted deeply into Alex, enjoying the warmth of him, the way his heart raced against Michael’s fingers on his hairy chest. He loved touching Alex, listening to Alex, smelling Alex, _tasting_ Alex. He… loved…

“Stop daydreaming,” Alex whispered into his ear, a laugh in his throat. “I need you awake.”

Michael laughed deeply, turning to look at Alex’s profile. He bit his lower lip, pulling Alex closer by the waist. The archer merely huffed a laugh, and pushed at Michael’s chest, keeping a distance between them. Michael tried not to wonder what was going through Alex’s head, what he was thinking of the Viking now, if a part of him regretted what had happened, what they had been doing.

Alex had said he felt something for Michael as well, he’d _wanted_ Michael to touch him. Michael leaned up on an elbow, kissing down Alex’s chest, listening to the way his heart thrashed. Michael nuzzled the archer’s toned stomach, breathing against his skin.

“Are you already so eager?”

Alex pulled him up, raking his fingers through Michael’s released curls. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Michael breathed, pulling Alex’s leg up around his waist, grinding into him, already hardening.

Alex laughed, and Michael tried not to think of how his heart jumped at the sound, how _good_ it sounded in his ears, how badly he wanted to spend the rest of his life listening to that beautiful, _beautiful_ –

“_Ah_,” Alex was caught mid-laugh, his eyes widened and his brows furrowed, his fingers digging painfully into Michael’s shoulders. _He was in pain._

“Alex? Are you –”

Alex’s body violently trembled, forcing Michael back as he curled in on himself.

“Alex, what’s wrong? Tell me, please –” Michael tried touching him, but snatched his hand away almost at once. Alex skin was burning hotter than fire. “But… how? You don’t feel heat.”

“_Your Highness?!_” Michael heard, and looked to the door. There Kyle was, standing with his arms up, his eyes wide, and his mouth hanging open. He spent all of a second taking in the scene before him before he ran in, fell to his knees at Alex’s side, and held him up against him.

“What did you do?” Kyle growled, his arms wrapped around Alex, trying to keep him still. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?!”

“I have done nothing!”

“Mmh,” Alex trembled, clutching Kyle’s arm with trembling fingers. His face was red, as if he was suffering from a treacherous fever.

“Alex,” Michael tried reaching for him, but Kyle held him tightly, refusing to let Michael near him. Michael wanted to rip him apart, to take Alex away and protect himself… but protect him from what? He remembered the prince in his dreams, screaming at Michael to run as the darkness consumed him.

“Get out, GO, you have done enough,” Kyle commanded, covering Alex naked torso with whatever blankets and wool he could reach, even though they both knew that the prince could not feel the cold. Michael had the terrifying feeling he could feel the cold now.

“GET OUT!” Kyle yelled, laying a shivering Alex down on the bed. “It’s alright, Alex, I am here. I’m here.”

Michael wanted to stay, but he could not. He dressed in what he could find, and by the time he was standing in the doorway, Alex had settled down, his chest rising and falling quickly with a cold rag on his forehead. Kyle was hovering beside him, shielding him from Michael’s view.

“You are nothing to him,” Kyle said. Michael stilled. “Do not mistake his lust for love.”

_Love._ Michael thought of that word.

“You tell me so,” Michael said, unable to help himself. “Yet you confuse his friendship for it.”

That, evidently, was the wrong thing to say. Kyle had a bow and arrow drawn as quickly as Michael could’ve lifted his sword, except he hadn’t brought one. He had been too eager to see Alex, to make sure the archer was alright.

Michael rolled his shoulders back. Kyle did not look as Alex did with the arrow. Alex was a prince, cool and regal. The silver arrow always shined in his hands, obeying his every desire as if it wanted nothing but to please him. Kyle, however, looked like a hunter. Someone who had faced cruel beasts, and was not afraid to face another. His arrow worked _with_ him, not for him. Kyle had a darkness in his eyes that Alex didn’t, and Michael knew this was not a man who had hesitated to shoot before, and would not hesitate to shoot now.

“_You_,” he spat, “are a _temporary distraction_. Nothing more.”

Michael clenched his jaw. There were weapons in this cottage, and as strong as Kyle was, he could never hurt Michael. No one but Alex could ever manage it.

But then Michael’s eyes fell on Alex’s sleeping face, his brows furrowed as if distressed even in his sleep, and he hated, he _hated_ how badly he knew Alex needed Kyle. How badly Alex loved Kyle.

“Tend to him,” was all Michael said, turning to leave. “I will return.”

_Alex woke in a cave. The rocks were surprisingly soft against his back, the rainstorm heavy outside. Alex stepped towards the cave’s entrance, a sense of inexplicable dread building in the pit of his stomach, just as always._

_ He was on a cliff, overlooking – not the forest – but a valley filled with flowers. In the distance, there it was; his Mirolet. It reflected the dark clouds, the walls shimmering in the rain._

_ “Alexander,” he heard, and turned with a gasp. His physician, or as he’d come to call her, his aunt Michelle was seated against the cave wall, warming herself by a fire as she smiled up at Alex._

_ In that moment, Alex felt any dread fade away, overwhelmed by so much peace that his eyes burned with tears._

_ Michelle tilted her head, and reached an arm out, inviting. Alex felt something like a sob escape his lips – he could not be sure, as he had not felt such a thing for so long – and he ran into his aunt’s arms._

_ “There there, my boy,” Michelle said calmly, her fingers combing through Alex’s hair. “You are safe here.”_

_ “I wish I could stay here,” Alex cried out. “I dare not step outside, auntie.”_

_ She chuckled. “You have always feared the outside world. Has that not changed?”_

_ “Everything has changed. Everything. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”_

_ “Alexander. Yes, you _do_. You know.”_

_ Alex shook his head. It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t…_

_ “I can’t love him,” he whispered, and Michelle smiled kindly._

_ “Why not?”_

_ “He is a _Viking_.”_

_ “And you are a prince. What does that change?”_

_ “He is cruel.”_

_ “He will learn.”_

_ “He could not love me.”_

_ “How do you know that?”_

_ Alex groaned. “Must you always ask me questions?”_

_ “Must you always ignore them?” She laughed. “My boy. Your mother asked me to look after you before her passing, so let me look after you. We do not get to speak so often. Let us make the most of this meeting now.”_

_ Alex pressed his forehead to his physician’s chest. “Is that why we are here, in this cave?”_

_ “It is where you allowed your happiness to matter,” she said. “It means something to you.”_

_ “How foolish,” Alex whispered._

_ “And high time for it!” she said. “I have watched you suffer through the decades. Nothing had mattered before you met Kyle, and nothing else has mattered since.”_

_ “I was living in misery before him –”_

_ “And this is better? You have come far in the past two decades, my beautiful, but you must keep moving.”_

_ Alex shook his head, sitting up. “I have to concentrate on finding Mirolet. I cannot think about a Viking –”_

_ “That Viking _is_ the way to Mirolet, and you _know_ this, Alexander.” She took her face in his hands, wiping his tears with her thumbs. “Listen to me, my boy. You have spent your entire life hiding away, afraid of being who you are, of listening to you heart. Even now, you fight for only one part of yourself. You _can _be a prince, a sorcerer, _and_ a man in love, my beautiful. You need not choose one or the other. You can be all.”_

_ Her smile widened as she gently moved Alex’s bangs from his eyes. “And just think, how happy you will be in the end. Don’t you finally want it, my beautiful Alexander? Happiness?”_

Alex opened his eyes slowly, his lids heavy. The air was cold, and Alex only had a moment to recognize that he was in his familiar cottage before he realized that the air was _cold_. He felt naked underneath the blanket, and pulled it tightly around his shoulders. It was still dark outside the window, and as Alex’s vision completely cleared, he realized with a sinking feeling that Michael was missing.

He sat up, looking around before his head began to throb, and he hung it in his hands.

“Looking for the Viking?” he heard, and saw Kyle sitting beside the fire, staring at the flames as if trying not to swing a sword at them.

“Kyle.”

“Sorry to say he’s gone.”

“You’ve returned.”

“Mmm.” Kyle pursed his lips. His voice softened as he asked, “Are you feeling any better?”

“Slightly,” Alex confessed.

“That’s your honest truth, is it?” Alex did not respond. They sat a moment in the silence, the only sound that of the crackling flames. “You said you hated him.”

“I did.”

“That he meant nothing to you – _less _than nothing.”

“He didn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t LIE TO ME!” he snapped, throwing the dagger he’d been twirling between his fingers against the wall, the blade clattering against the pots and pans laid there.

Alex stared. “He meant nothing until he did.”

Kyle’s shoulders fell as if he could not have expected that Alex would really confess to caring about the Viking. Alex had not expected it either. But he could no longer lie to Kyle, any more than he could lie to himself.

“You were not wearing anything when I returned,” he said, his voice steely. “Care to know why?”

“Enough,” Alex tried, but Kyle was too angry.

“No, not _enough_, _not even close_!” he growled.

Alex clenched his fists in the blankets. “He… is the key. That night the spell worked, and showed you that woman… that was the first night we –”

“Stop,” he held up a hand. It was trembling. “I – I don’t want to hear this.”

“We are connected, he and I,” Alex insisted. “We _need_ him.”

“No, you _think_ you need him,” Kyle told him. “I can –” he shook his head, taking a step closer to Alex. “I can do what he can, I can help you better than he can.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Oh Kyle…”

Kyle knelt at his side. Alex could not meet his eyes. “You’ve never needed anyone but me. I am your heart,” he whispered, his eyes filled with tears, his smile sad. “Am I not anymore?”

“Of course you are,” Alex said, taking his hands, then realized what he was doing, and released him. “_Of course_ you are. Kyle… the blame lies with me, I should’ve stopped this years ago. My friend, my _brother_, you don’t love me.”

Kyle’s smile fell, and he stood. “Do not tell me what I feel.”

“I am your hero, nothing more.”

“And what’s wrong with that?!”

“It’s not the truth!” Alex said desperately. “It’s a fantasy you’ve created, and you refuse to see me as anything less!”

“There is nothing _less_ about you,” he argued. “You simply do not want to admit it because you are humble. _No_, it’s not humility, it’s hatred. You _hate_ yourself, I will not apologize for disagreeing!”

“I knew this,” Alex said, wishing his eyes would not burn now. “I knew the only reason you came with me was because of your imagined love –”

“IT’S NOT IMAGINED!”

“And I allowed it because I loved caring for you, and you helped me find my purpose. But it’s gotten out of hand now. Look at me. _Look at me_, Kyle, you _don’t _love me.”

Kyle huffed a sob, the frustration in his voice tearing at Alex’s heart. “I DO LOVE YOU!”

“AND I LOVE YOU!”

“Do _not_ say as a brother!” Kyle stepped away. “Don’t say it, Alex!”

“Can’t it be enough?”

“NO!” he demanded. “I WANT ALL OF YOU!”

“Kyle – _ah_!” Alex was unable to continue, feeling as if someone had taken boulders against his skull. He felt Kyle come to his side in an instant, but he could not respond to his concern. He muscles were heavy, he was exhausted, and he was _freezing_. Not a chill down his spine, not a shock throughout his arms and legs, but his entire body – freezing.

As it subsided, Alex could hear Kyle’s voice clearly, asking if he needed anything. Alex shook his head.

“The curse is fading,” Alex said quietly. “We are certain now.”

Kyle looked away. “Because of him?”

“Because of us.” Kyle clenched his jaw. “Whenever we are together –”

“Enough,” he said, barely over a whisper. “Enough.”

He lay Alex back down, covering him tightly with several woolen blankets before he stooped down, hovered above Alex’s forehead as if deliberating whether or not he was allowed to kiss him. He did not.

“Get some sleep,” he said, and turned to the door. Alex tried to call his name, but his head still ached and Kyle had already left.

As Alex slept, he only hoped that his brother would return. That he had not lost his family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter is long enough. It ended up being longer than I expected it to be, so that's good!  
[tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)  



	6. Monsters, Shadows, and Golden Lights

Michael had said he would return, but in fact, he had never left. Kyle was not so good as Alex at spotting him, so he paced the forest, knocking smaller trees down with his fists. A few hours later, Kyle had come out. Michael could not see his face, though he looked as if he was about to be ill and itching to kill someone (probably the Viking himself) all at the same time.

Alex did not follow. Michael took the chance, and returned to the cottage, opening the door slowly. He expected to find Alex asleep, perhaps still shivering, but he was lying in his bed with his eyes open. Upon seeing Michael, he sat up with a frown. Perhaps it was that unfamiliarity in his eyes that kept Michael against the wall.

“You’ve returned,” he said as if he had genuinely not expected it.

Michael had a number of things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask, but in the end, all that left his lips was, “Is this your way of telling me that lying with me makes you ill?”

Alex slumped against his pillows with a half-hearted scoff. He was dressed in his light fabric, though the blankets that covered him were many. Michael wondered if that was good or bad. Every fiber in his body itched to reach forward and touch the archer, though he would not dare. He did not know if he was welcome.

“I saw Kyle leave.”

Alex’s face darkened, and Michael instantly wished he had not spoken. “Had you? Is that why you dared come back in?”

“When will you understand, _archer_, that sparing his life is a courtesy to _you_, nothing more? And a very _trying_ courtesy, at that!”

Alex did not get angry as Michael might’ve expected, nor did he laugh. He seemed to be too caught up in his thoughts to do either.

Michael wondered if he was still sick. “I must say though,” he added, and Alex looked up, eyes narrowed. “His timing is impeccable. It’s as if he could sense when you are in danger.”

Alex stared at him, as if searching for something.

Michael fidgeted, hoping it looked casual as he held his hands painfully tight behind his back. “It is infuriating, in a way. Even when you are near unconsciousness, you do not look afraid. What must a man do to terrify you, Your Highness –”

“You hide that very well,” Alex said, and Michael turned silent a moment, his nails digging into his skin. Still, he smirked.

“Hide what?”

Alex’s expression softened in a way Michael had never expected it to with him. “The tremor in your voice.” Michael’s smirk fell away. “Had you always had that?”

And Alex knew. Michael did not know how, but he _knew_ that Michael had feared for him, had been itching to return to his side, had not wanted to leave at all. Michael crossed the small space between them, and fell to his knees at Alex’s bedside just as Alex had once fallen to his knees before Michael in the forest.

Michael took Alex’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together tightly enough that it should have hurt, but all Michael could think was that it simply was not close enough.

“You are a _fool_, archer,” he whispered, only thankful to Thor that Alex’s skin was not as hot as it had been, only warm. “If you actually believe that the greatest Viking could ever tremble for anything.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Alex said just as quietly, bringing an arm around Michael’s shoulders to hold him in place. “I know how easily offended your lot are.”

Michael broke out into a miserable laugh. “Damn you.”

He brought their mouths together, swallowing a whimper from Alex’s throat as Alex had swallowed one from his, though Michael knew neither would ever admit to it. Alex was alive, and warm under his touch, and kissing him, and Michael felt that he could finally breathe.

After several minutes of pressing against one another, Michael ended up in the bed beside Alex, resting over the wool covers.

“I thought you could not feel the heat or cold,” he said, combing his fingers through the wool before slipping his hands under the blankets and wrapping around Alex’s waist.

Alex shook his head from where it rested against his pillows. Michael wished he would rest his head on the Viking’s shoulder, but the request seemed so unlike him that he banished it the moment it entered his thoughts.

“I have my suspicions, Viking, though they are so foolish, I have not yet dared speak them out loud.”

Michael watched Alex a moment. He wondered if the prince realized he often fell into his thoughts, lost from the world around him. Michael feared those moments when he felt Alex slip away from him. He tried to convince himself he simply could not stand not knowing what roamed the archer’s thoughts, but in secret, he knew it was more than that. The only answer he knew to be the absolute truth was that he could not stand not knowing how to rid Alex of the nightmares that haunted him.

He brought his hand up, hesitant, and pushed back Alex’s bangs from his eyes, startling him back into the present. “Tell me.”

Alex searched his eyes, then hesitantly brought his own hand up to cup Michael’s jaw, his thumb caressing the Viking’s cheek. Michael was so surprised by the gentle touch that he could not think to react. As a result, Alex must have thought he was crossing an invisible line, and he put his hand down, clearing his throat, and looked away.

“N-no, Alex, I –”

“You and I. Together,” he said as he moved out of Michael’s hold, and Michael had suddenly never felt them further apart. “When you and I come together, my spells work better. I… I feel the curse fading. It is why I was so ill last night.”

Michael frowned. “You were ill… because your curse is _fading_?”

Alex sighed. “I was born on a full moon,” he explained. “All sorcerers are. It is the source of our strength. When it is gone, I become…” he hesitated, as if wondering whether or not he was going to tell a Viking his secret.

“You become weak,” Michael finished, and blinked. “Hang on. Is _that_ the only reason I was able to hurt you during our first battle? There was no moon?”

Alex looked up. “_That’s_ what caught your attention? Losing to me the first time we fought?”

“_No_, not _losing_,” Michael said, raising his voice. How could the prince be so _foolish_? “Hurting you! If I had known it would weaken you, I never would’ve fought you then!”

Alex stopped, seemingly about to give a retort and having forgotten it. He tilted his head, confused. “Really? Because even in my weakest state, you lost.”

“I – _all right_, never mind then!” he snapped. “You are bloody impossible to woo, just go on with your story!”

Alex looked away with a _hmph_, though Michael could not miss the fact that his cheeks and tips of his ears had turned red in the firelight. “Fine! _As I was saying_, when there is no moon in the sky, I am in my weakest state. Because of the curse, I could only experience a slight exhaustion.”

“So you weren’t _really_ in your weakest state then.”

“_By the gods_.”

Michael gestured with a wide sweeping of his arm for Alex to continue. Alex seemed to want to wait until Michael was surely finished speaking. When he was certain the Viking was silent (bloody prince, looks handsome even when he’s being an arrogant _arse_), then he finished.

“The fact that I…” Alex shook his head, his voice darker and deeper as he went on. “The fact that I was so ill means that the curse is no longer protecting my body. Even now, Viking, I… can feel the cold. Not as intensely as you, clearly, as I can still dress in my usual clothing, but… I am cold. My skin is warm. A few months ago, I could not even remember what that felt like, and now it is so _new_ –”

Michael did not know why he did what he did next, but he knew that he could not stand to see the prince is such distress. He pulled him in against his chest, his chin above the archer’s head, one hand on his shoulders, his other hand cupping the prince’s jaw as he had cupped Michael’s.

“This is good, is it not? This was what you wanted, to break the curse,” Michael said softly, though something in him tugged painfully at the mention of magic. It was unnatural to him, he’d grown up knowing it was evil and offensive to the gods. Yet he felt Alex against him now, and he did not know how someone so beautiful could possibly offend the heavens. How they did not now marvel at the wonder that is the silver archer. He was a prince, and Michael could only assume that the gods themselves had given the royal fate, had placed the crown on his head, had favored him as well as a child.

“It is what I wanted,” Alex whispered, and to Michael’s relief, he felt the archer’s arms come around his waist. “And yet I fear it. I should not tell you, for we are but strangers –”

“No,” Michael held him tighter. “Do not call us strangers, Alex. I miss you terribly in the time we are apart, and I feel an overwhelming joy when we are together. I know not what we are to one another, but do not call us strangers. I beg you.”

Alex did not say anything for a moment, but Michael held onto him. He expected Alex to pull away from him, to ask him to leave, but when the archer nuzzled his chest, Michael released a breath he did not know he was holding. He laid them down against the pillows, pulling the blankets up to cover Alex’s shoulders. He told himself it was because Alex was weak now, because he had seen Alex ill, and simply did not wish to see it again. No one, in their right mind, should want to see Alex trembling and feverish. It was a truly horrifying sight.

“Kyle will return soon,” Alex said after a moment, and Michael tensed.

“And you wish me to go?” he guessed.

“No,” he whispered. “I do not.” He held Michael tighter, and in his embrace, Michael felt a deep sadness that he did not know how to remedy. “But I cannot hurt him any more tonight. I have had to hurt him so much already.”

Michael’s shoulders slumped, and he tried not to feel hurt by Alex’s confession.

“He loves you,” Michael said before he could help himself.

“I know. But not as he believes.”

“How can you be certain?”

Alex sighed. “He has never known me as anything but light. He has never seen me fall, never seen me give up hope, never seen my darkness take over. How can you love someone unless you know the worst of them?” he asked, looking up at Michael as if he expected an answer.

Michael combed Alex’s hair back with his fingers, his heart swelling at the way Alex’s eyes fluttered. “You cannot.”

Michael did not point out that he had seen that darkness in Alex himself, when they fought. He had seen it with Alex’s promises of death. He had seen it in the first silver arrow ever pointed at his chest. An arrow sworn to pierce his heart.

“I must go then,” Michael said quietly, and forced himself away from Alex’s side, pretending the distance did not pain him. Alex stared off into the distance as Michael slipped his boots on, his expression so sad and resigned to a life of losses and frightening changes, one after the other, all so sudden, that Michael could not help but lean down, and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

Alex blinked and looked up at him, surprised. It was too intimate. It was not their way. It was not what they had agreed on. Michael thought he had made a terrible mistake when Alex looked away and pressed his lips together in a pout that had Michael’s heart thrashing in a way it should not have.

“Yes, very well, Viking, enjoy my withered state now. By dawn, I will be out of bed, and in need of a good target practice, so you best beware.”

Michael smiled, pressing his nose to Alex’s cheek as he bit his lower lip. “D’you know, I have other ideas of what you could do to regain strength.”

Alex narrowed his eyes as he pointedly fixed his glare on the fireplace, his cheeks turned red and warm. “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat. “We will have to, won’t we? Our lying together seems to be the only way to strengthen the enchantments meant to help Mirolet.”

Michael laughed a laugh that he did not entirely feel. “So you want to share a bed with me to save your kingdom? My, Your Majesty, that is quite an abuse of power.”

“A bed,” Alex scoffed. “Is that what we’ve been using? I must not have been aware.”

Michael bit his cheek, earning a hiss and a shove against his chest. He grabbed Alex’s wrist and pinned it above his head, forcing the prince to look at him. “You never seemed to mind.”

Alex fidgeted against him, and Michael resisted the urge to press his body against the prince’s.

“Release me, you barbarian,” he said, pushing him away. “You disturb my rest.”

Michael rubbed their noses together, and took his leave. He had just reached the door when the prince called out, “Michael.”

Michael stopped, and turned to him with a raised brow.

Alex looked surprised at what he’d done, and adjusted the blankets a moment as if contemplating what to say. Finally, he seemed to settle on, “I-I just… I am confident that even you, a Viking, as primal as your people are –”

“There’s a point to this, I’m sure –”

“—could not be so stupid as to believe that I lie with you _solely_ for… w-well, I didn’t initially know that… I mean, it was never my intent to…”

_I do not merely lie with you for the sake of my kingdom. You are more than that to me. You do know that, don’t you?_

Michael’s grin widened. He quickly returned to Alex’s side, took the prince’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Alex gasped against his mouth, but Michael held on, pressing his tongue to Alex’s, all but devouring his mouth until neither of them could breathe any longer.

When he pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together, and breathed against Alex’s lips, “I know, archer. And I will hold you to that.”

Without waiting for Alex’s response, Michael walked out of the cottage, feeling a weight he had never known was there vanish from his chest. His heart could finally breathe.

For the rest of the night, Alex dreamed of monsters. He dreamed of darkness, his father’s icy-blue eyes turned red as the rest of him turned to shadow, he dreamed of growling and bloody claws following him through the forest. The second the darkness had closed around him, he’d woken with a start, and found himself alone in the cottage. He wrapped a blanket around himself, so deeply uncomfortable that he considered asking the Viking to stay away a few days, then scolded himself for the thought.

He wanted the curse to be over, of course he did, and yet to feel the cold and heat now as he had not felt it for so long, it was strange.

He stepped outside where Kyle was chopping firewood with an axe. Alex sat down on a tree stump, silent as his friend worked. He wondered how long Kyle had been awake, how long he’d been here working if, even with the frost, he was sweating through the thin layer he was wearing, his face red with the effort, and his hands cut as if he’d tried breaking apart some of the logs with his bare hands.

“Where were you?”

“I went for a walk,” he said, and broke another piece of firewood.

“I was worried.”

Kyle clenched his jaw. “I am not incapable.”

“I know.” Kyle said nothing else and seemed to be in no mood to talk any further. It was alright, Alex thought as he clenched his fists in his blankets. It was his turn to talk now, and Kyle’s to listen.

“Before we met… I saw no hope,” he said, and Kyle slowed. “I… I tried to end my life, but no matter what I did, I could not die.”

Kyle set his axe down. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you have to know,” Alex said. “I have hidden the truth of myself from you for too long, but no more. You wanted honesty; this is it.”

Kyle said nothing, which Alex took as a sign to continue.

“I had hidden myself away in the forest, resigned to that miserable life. I spent nearly a decade in isolation.” Alex took in a shuddering breath. “I… I was not kind. I was not good. I had lived nothing but cruelty at the hands of others, and I was weary. I spent all that time practicing my archery, it was meant for nothing more than hunting, but… one day, I met intruders.

“There had been rumors in the neighboring village that a sorcerer was lodging in the forest. Magic was still feared by all, and a group of men had decided to take the business of ridding me from the grounds into their own hands. They stormed my cottage and set it on fire, though little did they know that that would not harm me for long.”

He swallowed. “My magic, as you know, has been weak since the curse. All I had were my arrows, and I was alone and afraid.”

“No,” Kyle shook his head.

“There were twelve men that day.”

“No.”

“None of them survived.”

“Stop it,” Kyle said, throwing his axe aside. “Lies. Slander!”

“I had given up my humanity, I thought there was no purpose. I had forgotten what it was like… to have a heart. Those men were the first, but they were not the last. My…” the words got lost in his lungs. “My greatest fall, and the very end of it, was – was a child.”

“NO!”

“I spent the next several decades with neither sleep nor food, hoping to wither away, the guilt having consumed me until I felt but a shell of who I once was. The curse kept me alive, but I was not living. I had no purpose, no reason to keep breathing. Then I found you.”

“This isn’t true,” he knelt in front of Alex, his hands on the archer’s knees, gripping tightly. “You would never, Sire.”

“I did,” Alex said miserably. “And I have punished myself for it greatly. For the failure and weakling I was before I’d met you, for the monster I had become. For the way I’d given up, and turned my back on Mirolet, and I _continue _to punish myself.”

“This isn’t true,” his hands on Alex’s tightened. “Tell me it’s not true!”

Alex’s throat felt constricted. Kyle’s eyes swam with so much sorrow and… disappointment.

“Please, Your Highness,” Kyle took Alex’s face in his hands. “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me… and I will believe you.”

Alex wanted to plead otherwise, though he felt it would make so little difference. “Sometimes you fight the darkness, Kyle, and sometimes you win,” he whispered, and the light in Kyle’s eyes shattered. He pulled away from the archer. “But _sometimes_, you can look for the evil around, and realize… that the evil is you.”

Kyle covered his mouth, shaking his head as he moved back. Alex tried reaching for him, but the hunter turned and ran, away from Alex, away from his prince, away from his fallen hero.

“Enough with your giddy mood, you’re giving me a headache!”

Michael stopped his whistling, raising a brow at Maria who was sitting on a stool in her shop, holding her head.

“I thought you wanted me to light your fire?” he said, the flames in the large fireplace before him just beginning to burn.

“Light my fire, yes,” Maria groaned. “Be irritatingly happy, _no_. It irks me even more that I cannot understand why you are so overjoyed.”

“My happiness is cause for your agitation?”

“I do not mind your happiness,” she said, “so long as it does not inconvenience me, and at the moment, it inconveniences me greatly.”

“And what, may I ask, has got you so riled?”

Maria only sighed. Michael checked over his shoulder at her, and for the first time in days, he noticed the look of hidden pain on her face, the dark circles around her eyes.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“Hm?” Maria looked up, and pushed her hair back from her face. “Oh, I do not remember. Please, no questions now.”

“My voice is an inconvenience to you as well?”

“A nuisance,” she corrected with a groan. Michael stopped working.

“Maria. What ails you?”

Maria shook her head, her brows furrowed as if she herself did not understand it. “Nightmares.” She shook her head. “It is foolish, _childish_ to be haunted by dreams.”

“It is not,” Michael said as comfortingly as he could without confessing that he had nightmares that had haunted him as well. “Tell me,” he came to sit in front of her on the ground, looking up at her. “What do you see?”

Maria’s eyes widened momentarily as she clutched her necklace, the necklace Michael had brought with him which Isobel had given to her. “Are you a fool, brother? You must never speak your nightmares lest they come true.” Michael said nothing, and Maria’s frown deepened. “What, no speech about superstitions? No lecture on the foolishness of it? No scolding for believing in magic?”

Michael, oddly enough, found he had not considered that in the slightest, but only wondered what Alex would have had to say of this. He had even dared to wonder if Alex might have a spell for easing Maria’s worries before he banished the thought completely.

“Maria,” he said slowly. “You have never believed in the harm of magic.”

She drew herself up, despite her pain, as if ready to defend herself. “Of course not.”

“Why?” She frowned. “It is… unnatural… isn’t it?”

“No, I do not think it is, Michael.” She sighed. “If you must know, I grew up with memories of my mother’s stories. Stories of sorceresses and sorcerers who used magic to fight darkness, _evil_. I cannot think magic is all so terrible if it can be used for such good.”

“But those were just stories.”

Maria then looked at him as if he was forgetting something very obvious, something he had perhaps once known once upon a time before the world told him who he was and how special his gifts were, and tainted everything else as _other_ and _abnormal_.

“My dear brother,” she huffed a chuckle. “_Everything_ is a story.”

Michael considered this. In truth, it made very little sense to him, but it created a warmth in his chest, a kind of relief he could not explain. If everything was a story, then did that mean it could be changed? He thought of the story he had written with Alex, the one that was to end with the prince’s departure, and for a single, brief moment, he felt hopeful. Maybe there was an ending where he and Alex were together.

Before he could dwell on the idea too much, Maria spoke, “Forgive me, brother, I must return home to rest,” she said. “I do not feel at all well.”

Michael stood, helping her lean against him. “Maria, what is happening? Will you not tell me?”

“The nerve,” Maria scoffed, though even that seemed to take visible effort. “When you will not tell me your own secret.”

Michael felt guilt lurch in his stomach. He could not tell Maria about Alex – he would expose himself as having allowed a trespasser on the land to live, and Alex no less wanted their presence here to be known. He had threatened Michael with such. But surely – _surely _– he would not mind Maria, as Maria would not mind him. Maria, who believed magic could be good, would not expose the prince and his friend if Michael explained that they were here to save an entire kingdom. Michael momentarily thought of why he cared about Mirolet at all, and only a small answer came to mind, a quiet one: _You care because Alex cares._

Maria muttered something, her voice breaking, and Michael leaned in to hear. “What?”

“W – water.”

“Water,” Michael nodded. “Of course, sister. The freshest.”

He let Maria go only to check the contents of the jug against the wall, but it was empty. Michael thought of the large well, not far outside Maria’s shop.

“Come, sister,” he said, taking her against him, holding most of her weight. “We will get you water.”

Maria was panting against Michael’s shoulder. Michael wondered when she had become so tired and ill, and how he could not have noticed. He asked her if she wanted him to bring Isobel, and Maria shook her head.

“I do not want her to worry for nothing. I can handle this alone,” she said, and Michael could not help but think of Alex. How similar these two were. He wondered if they would get along.

Maria suddenly gasped, and Michael followed her gaze. He nearly dropped her. The patch of darkness that had contaminated half of the well had spread to most of the bricks.

“No,” he breathed, and came up to the well with Maria at his side. The water was too far below to tell whether or not the darkness had touched it, but the closer Michael came, he could feel the cold seep into his body and chill his bones.

Maria must have felt it as well for she clutched his wool coat, her fingers trembling, her eyes on the darkness spreading as if she recognized it from a haunted past. “Now,” she said. “Now you may get Isobel.”

Isobel wasn’t the only one Michael called. In no time at all, Max, Liz, Isobel, and the entire village had grouped around. Max had already directed most to bring buckets, jugs, cups – all of them piling out water which – _thank Odin_ – the darkness had not yet touched.

“It is getting closer,” Max said privately to him where the villagers could not hear. “We were hunting, Michael,” he shook his head. “We could find no sign of the source.”

“What could be causing this?” Liz muttered, her hands on her hips, her eyes on Isobel who was rubbing Maria’s back as she took a long drink of water. “What has happened to Maria?”

“She is tired,” Isobel said, nuzzling the girl’s cheek worriedly. “I do not like this darkness, brother.”

“Neither do I,” Max agreed. He patted Michael’s shoulder. “Brother, you are to come with me and Liz as we search more of the forest. Perhaps we can find the source if we work together.”

Michael thought instantly of Alex. He nodded, trying not to seem concerned. He had found no trace of darkness on Alex, his sole concern having been checking to make sure the prince was not hurt or in any danger. Now, he wondered if that was truly reassuring.

He made a decision then. As Max and Liz searched for more darkness, Michael would sneak off to the archer, and ask if he knew of the darkness at all. Alex had promised him that the village would not be in danger by his visit here. Michael found he so desperately wanted to believe him.

“Mama!” Elias came running up the dirt road, squeezing between the gathered villagers.

“Elias,” Liz frowned, gripping his shoulders, blocking his view of the well as he tried to peek at it. “Elias, I _told_ you to stay in the cottage!”

“Mayweather and Phillis told me _their_ father told them that the darkness is spreading! Is there a monster?” he tried to move around his mother, but she held on as Max came to stand beside her. “Is it a _monster_ that’s doing this? Are the gods angry? Why would they be angry with us?”

“The gods are not angry, Elias,” Max leaned down. “_Enough_.” At his word, Elias froze, and stopped trying to look at the well. “Your mother told you to stay in the cottage, and in the cottage is where you will stay.”

“But I –”

“You do not disobey your mother! Apologize to her this instant.”

“I only wanted to –”

“_Now_.”

Elias looked to Michael as if asking for his help, but with a sharp look from his father, his big dark eyes turned to his mother. “I apologize, mother.”

Liz sighed, and kissed the top of his head. “Go on, now. Go home.”

With his head down, Elias returned the way he came.

Liz put a hand on Max’s arm. “Darling, I know you are concerned, but he only wanted to help.”

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but as his eyes caught Liz’s, they softened. “I know,” he said quietly. “I feel as if I am failing him. I cannot understand what is happening to our village. I do not know what this is, and I do not know how to stop it.”

“_We will_ know,” she said. “If we work together.”

Max took Liz’s wrist, keeping her palm against his jaw. “What would I do without you?”

The moment seemed so private that Michael felt he had to look away. He thought of the prince sitting in his cottage now, wondered if Kyle was there, what he and the archer were talking about, and whether they knew that the village’s three strongest Vikings, as Maria felt too tired to come along and Isobel was staying behind to look after her, were on their way.

_“Come on, Alex! Hurry up!”_

_ “Wait for me!” Alex yelled, his small palms scraped and scratched from clawing onto the roof of the palace. He nearly slipped a few times, but one of his older brothers caught his arm and hauled him toward them._

_ “Be careful, you numpty!” Flint scolded._

_ “I _was_ being careful!” Alex lied, and rushed past him. He ran into Gregory who glared at him._

_“Watch where you’re going, Alex!”_

_ “Sorry,” Alex muttered, sitting by Gregory’s feet. After a moment, he felt his brother’s begrudging hand on his hair, and he smiled to himself._

_ “You could’ve dropped us both,” he grumbled, and Alex nodded._

_ “I know. I’m sorry. What did you want me to see?”_

_ “It’s starting,” Clay half-whispered, half-yelled. “It’s starting!”_

_ “What’s starting!” Alex whined as Flint and Gregory pulled him up. They had to be quiet because they were not permitted to be up here, but Alex had heard his brothers running through the castle before dawn, whispering excitedly as they laughed, and he had jumped out of bed and followed them. They had told him to return to bed, but he hadn’t bothered listening. Hiding what he was had been exhausting enough. He was still their brother, he still admired them. He wanted to _be _their brother._

_ “Look!” Clay pointed, and in the distance, behind the snowy mountains which were also reflected in the castle walls, was a rising light. As the sun came up, Alex gasped. The clouds turned pink, violet, blue, orange, and gold. The snowy mountains turned violet, the stars shined brighter in the morning light._

_ His brothers around him seemed to hold their breaths as the silence of their kingdom engulfed them and left them all at peace, and Alex, unable to help himself, whispered, “It’s like magic.”_

_ His brothers stilled, and before Alex knew it, he was roughly turned around, Flint’s grip on his shoulders tight._

_ “Don’t say that again!”_

_ “But I –”_

_ “Father will _kill_ you! Don’t say it ever again!”_

_ Alex trembled, all the wonder and astonishment of the morning gone as he stumbled back. “I – I’m sorry!”_

_ “Alexander,” Gregory said firmly, and Alex tried not to show his fear. His brother never used his full name. “You know the king does not take lightly to sorcerers. He makes no exceptions. You _know_ this?”_

_ And Alex heard the silent implication. _He will not take lightly to any sorcerers, even if they were his own children. You know to hide it better, don’t you?

_ Alex clenched his jaw, and nodded slowly. He must have looked more afraid than he had intended because after a moment, Clay sighed. “It is alright now. It was a mistake. A mistake he _must not_ repeat, but we were lucky. Father is not here. Come, Alex, watch the sunrise with us.”_

_ He spread an arm out for Alex, and the youngest prince ran to his side, holding onto his waist. Clay looked calm, yet Alex heard his heart race against his chest. He was afraid for his brother. Alex held on, the charm of the morning sky having dissipated after his slip of words. He had to be more careful. He feared, if he was not, Flint’s threat would come to pass. His father would kill him._

“Alex. Wake up, Alex. _Alexander_.”

Alex woke with a gasp. He had fallen asleep outside the cottage, in the same place he had been since he had spoken to Kyle. The first thought that came to mind as he took in his surroundings was that several hours had passed. His exhaustion had increased with the gradual loss of his curse, and it was putting him to sleep often, something that he was not at all accustomed to.

The second was that someone was watching him. Alex stood in an instant, the blanket around his shoulders falling to the ground as he reached for the bow and arrow he kept beside him at all times. Alex pulled one out, and aimed.

He stared at the dark figure standing in the lake, the water coming up to his calves. The archer narrowed his eyes. There was something wrong with this man. He wasn’t dark-skinned, but _immersed_ in darkness. And he looked familiar.

“Identify yourself!” he demanded, keeping a safe distance from the water. He was glad that Kyle had stormed away. He would be safe, at least.

The dark figure said nothing, and Alex approached. “Identify yourself! _Now_!”

The figure’s mouth opened slowly. Then, “Alex.”

Alex stilled. It was as if many men spoke at once, their voices all raspy and dark. But beneath them all, there was one voice he recognized. One voice that had warned him, that morning on the palace roofs, never to say the word magic again.

Alex couldn’t help but lower his arrow. “_Flint_?”

“Brother,” Flint croaked. “_Stop_.”

Alex blinked. He realized he’d come too close to the lake, close enough to see every detail of Flint’s appearance. He looked exactly as he had that day, so many centuries ago now, when Mirolet had been taken by the darkness, and Alex had been forced to escape. He wore his white, blue, and silver prince robes, a small silver crown on his head.

But the edges of him seemed to fade, as if he belonged to the shadows and was struggling to show himself now. Alex realized that perhaps he was.

“My brother,” Alex breathed. “How can you be here?”

“You feel it, don’t you, Alex?” Flint asked. “The darkness is coming. _He_ is coming.”

Alex felt a shock rise in his spine. He wanted to ask if it was because of Michael, but the words would not leave his tongue.

“It is true then,” he deduced instead. “The curse is lifting.”

“Faster than you can expect,” Flint rasped. “And with it, you know what will happen.”

Alex nodded. He had speculated, he had hoped, and perhaps… part of him had dreaded it.

He stepped closer to his brother only to be scolded back. He shook his head. “Flint, what has happened to you?”

“You _know_ what has happened. You know what happened all those centuries ago. When you ran away.”

Alex flinched, his eyes wide. “I… I had to leave.”

“I know, my dear brother. I only wish I had had the strength to run with you.”

Alex swallowed the lump in his throat. He imagined his brothers scream as their father’s darkness consumed them, as they were turned into the soldiers the king had always wanted.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Flint took a step towards _him_ this time. “No.”

“You lie.”

“Then ask me,” Flint trudged, “if I felt pain… so that the answer I gave… may be the truth.” Flint kept making his way towards the shore. “I felt nothing, brother. No pain. No fear. For, you see… darkness can only create nothing. I have not felt pain…” he reached a hand out for Alex once he was close enough, “for many centuries.”

He had not yet touched Alex, yet the archer felt the cold of his skin before. He gasped and jumped back.

Flint looked down at his fingers sadly. “I so long to feel pain.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his hand on his bow and arrow tightening. “It seems… I have not been the only one to feel nothing for centuries. It is a terrible fate, is it not, my brother?”

Flint’s eyes turned up to his brother’s slowly. “You think you can defeat him?”

_Not alone_, Alex thought, though if Flint didn’t know about his quest to find the savior destined to restore Mirolet, Alex wasn’t going to tell him.

“You cannot,” Flint lamented. “No one can.”

“Brother,” Alex stepped further away. “You… you seem ill. Please. Let me help you.”

“I am sorry, Alex,” he stepped onto frosty ground, and with every step, a patch of darkness spread behind him, like black blood seeping into the earth, burning the snow. Alex knew that darkness all too well.

Flint reached for him again, and Alex’s back hit the cottage. His scars burned slightly, and Alex, to his surprise, thought of Michael.

“He is forcing me. I cannot stop him.”

Before Flint could touch him, Alex aimed an arrow and released. It hit Flint, and he shot backwards. The ground turned black, covered in darkness as Flint lay there with an arrow’s shaft sticking out of his shoulder. Alex could not bring himself to shoot his brother’s heart.

He took just one step towards Flint, but his brother then sat up and pulled the arrow out. He examined the silver tip. His eyes still looked so sad. “Your magic is weak still, brother.”

He tossed the arrow away, the black blood dripping off the tip. Alex aimed another, though he could not imagine how it would help him now. He had never met a match like this, one who felt nothing at the touch of his silver arrows. He had never faced his brother before, and he did not want to.

“Flint,” he whispered. “_Please_.”

“Forgive me, Alex,” he rasped, his face changing, turning darker. “I have no choice.” His eyes, even the whites, turned raven-black. The shadows around him grew and darkened until he was nothing more than a monster of shadows with dark eyes, following Alex’s every move. He lunged, and Alex dived out of the way.

He rolled along the snow, and landed in a crouch, trying not to wince at the chill of the ice on his skin. It was bearable, his curse had not lifted _yet_, but Alex had not realized how much he relied on not feeling the cold.

Flint, or the monster that now replaced him, had turned his arm into a large shadow-like javelin, and it was now lodged where Alex had stood only a moment ago. Flint pulled himself free, his black eyes rounding on his brother. He jumped, too high for any mortal man, and emitted a high screech, loud enough to make Alex’s ears bleed as he attacked. Alex managed to avoid him at the last possible moment, but suffered a cut along his arm.

He felt as if his entire body had been drenched in painfully cold ice. He screamed. _Poison_, he realized. He stumbled back, his vision already hazy. It was his curse, he knew, that was keeping him alive, but it was growing harder to stand.

“Flint,” he tried again, but he did not think his brother could hear him anymore.

The monster jumped at his chest, knocking him to the ground. Alex reached out, his fingers closing on the shaft of his arrow. He pulled it in front of his face as the shadow’s mouth opened wide to scream again. With a yell, Alex slashed the monsters face with the tip, splattering black blood everywhere.

The touch of it made Alex feel as if his skin was burning with the intense cold. His arrow fell from his hand as he was left nearly unable to move his body.

The monster’s eyes searched Alex, and in his pain, Alex wondered if perhaps his brother still recognized him. Then the creature screeched, and Alex inhaled sharply. He was just considering how to escape, what spell to cast (his magic was indeed very weak, but if the curse was lifting, then…) when his brother turned abruptly silent.

From its stomach protruded the tip of a dagger. It was yanked back harshly, and the monster fell away beside Alex, twitching and trembling on the ground as Kyle took Alex’s arm, and pulled him to his feet.

“You…” he shook his head. “You stabbed him.”

Kyle held up his dagger, his dark eyes on the monster. “And I shall do it again.”

“No!” Alex held him back. “You could kill him!”

“_Him_?” Kyle frowned, and finally, his eyes met Alex’s. “Your Highness, _who is this_?”

As if responding, the creature’s shadows faded slightly, just enough to reveal the curled up figure of Alex’s brother. Alex stepped towards him. “Flint –”

Flint growled at him, turned toward the lake, and with unnatural speed, he reached the water and disappeared beneath the shadows of the surface.

They panted in the silence, their wary eyes on the lake.

“Your Highness,” Kyle spoke gravely. “Who was that man?”

Alex swallowed. It was getting harder and harder to stand. “My… my elder brother.”

“_Dear Loki_,” they both heard and whipped around to find Michael standing at the end of the shore with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “_Please_ tell me you are joking.”

Michael eyed the dark stains of black blood burned into the snow and the grass, and covering Alex’s clothes. It was the same as the darkness that covered the village well. Michael knew Liz and Max had been searching the forest and that they could not see the cottage as Michael could, yet part of him still feared that his brother and sister would stumble upon this scene.

“You,” Kyle growled. “We do not have the time to humor you now.”

Michael opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say a word, Alex breathed Kyle’s name and collapsed onto the frosty ground.

“Your Highness!” Kyle and Michael fell to his side. “The blood,” Kyle muttered, pushing up Alex’s shirt to reveal his skin burned and covered in blisters. There was a cut on his arm and it was swollen already, the skin green and cracking. “It was poisoned.”

“What do we do?” Michael asked, holding Alex’s head in his lap. He was breathing heavily. “WHAT DO WE DO?!”

“He needs magic,” Kyle began to stand, his dagger left behind on the snow. “Magic and medicine.”

He ran into the cottage, rummaging for items. Michael kept his eyes on Alex, rubbing his chest as he remembered his own brother doing for him when they were younger and Michael’s fevers made it difficult for him to breathe. Alex’s hand suddenly gripped Michael’s wrist, and he looked up at Michael through his lashes, his eyes red.

Michael’s fingers trembled against Alex’s chest, though he could not remember the last time he had trembled for anything. He mustered a smile. “Dear me, archer, you do not seem well.”

“I could still… defeat you,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut.

Michael touched his hand to the prince’s jaw. “No, my prince,” he said quietly, “look at me. Keep your eyes open. You must.”

“I must,” Alex muttered under his breath. “Is that an order?”

Michael smirked, leaning down to press his forehead to Alex’s. “A command. For _once_, just listen to me.”

Alex huffed a pained chuckle, though he seemed to be raising his forehead to meet Michael’s. “That hardly sounds like me.”

“Sire,” Kyle came out, searching the contents of a bag of wool. Michael and Alex pulled apart, but if Kyle had noticed them, he said nothing. He fell to his knees beside the prince, looked for his dagger, and held the hilt against Alex’s mouth. “Bite on this.”

Michael’s grip on Alex’s shoulder tightened protectively, but the prince looked at Kyle with complete trust, and did as he was told.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded, “and think of the healing spell you normally use.”

Alex did so, and Michael felt the air change around him, turning cold enough to pierce through his wool. He wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders before he could help himself. Kyle only shot him a silent glare as he grinded ingredients and potions together. The mixture smelled of leaves and earth, and Kyle dug his fingers into it.

The hunter glanced at Alex nervously. “This _will_ be painful.”

Alex nodded once as if to say, _I know_, and Kyle visibly swallowed before he began smearing the mixture over Alex’s cut and burns. The prince’s eyes widened as he screamed.

“Keep him still!” Kyle warned, and Michael held onto Alex with both arms as his friend smeared more of the mixture. Alex trembled violently in Michael’s hold, and the Viking held on so painfully tight, he was certain his grip would leave bruises in the archer’s skin. A thin line of shimmering silver formed in Alex’s now grey eyes as he stared up at the sky, and Michael would have very nearly pulled back if not for Alex’s tight hold on his wrist.

Michael pressed his lips to Alex’s hair. “Hold on, my darling. I am here.”

After what felt like hours, though Michael was sure only seconds had passed, Alex’s body calmed, his grip on Michael loosening, but Michael could not release him for an instant. The silver in his eyes had gone as they fluttered shut.

His skin was still red, though the worst of it seemed to be over.

“Why do his wounds not heal as always?”

Kyle did not look at him. His gaze was on Alex, warm and protective and _fierce_. Michael remembered what the prince had told him. _“He has never known me as anything but light. He has never seen me fall, never seen me give up hope, never seen my darkness take over. How can you love someone unless you know the worst of them?”_

Something had changed, Michael knew, but _what_, he could not say. He might never know what Alex had told Kyle to cause such a look, but he was certain of one thing; Kyle knew of his prince’s darkness now.

“The curse is lifting,” Kyle finally said quietly. “As I am sure you already know.”

“So his power to heal is fading,” Michael deduced, and Kyle nodded.

“As the curse lifts, I expect it means he will be able to use his magic soon without exhausting himself. Still… still the curse is not yet gone, and so his magic will pain him. He has to be careful not to use _any_ of it until he can bear it.”

Michael swallowed, pushing Alex’s bangs back from his eyes. He was surprised to feel sweat on the prince’s brow.

“The curse… _needs_ to lift,” Kyle grumbled, more so to himself.

Michael thought of what Alex had told him, that the two of them together were the key to lifting the curse, as well as saving Mirolet once and for all.

“I need to stay,” Michael realized, unable to help the pride in his voice. “He needs me to stay.”

Kyle stood in an instant, his jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted nothing but to murder Michael where he sat. But then his gaze fell on Alex, and it softened.

“I am to go deep into the forest for more medicinal herbs,” he said as he turned away. “The prince will need it for his skin as he is not to use anymore magic. I will be back shortly. Carry him inside.”

Michael looked to Alex, then Kyle, then, “Wait.” The hunter stopped, but did not face him. “That darkness, it has touched my village as well. What is it?”

“If it is what I _think_ it is,” Kyle sighed, “then it is not for me to say.”

“Just tell me,” he added quickly. “Is it because of you? Is it because… is it because of Alex’s presence?”

Kyle finally turned and huffed a humorless smirk. “Why? Looking for a reason to kill us, are you? I _told_ Alex you could not be trusted.”

“Cannot be trusted,” Michael repeated despite the lump in his throat. “And yet you leave me here with your prince alone.”

Kyle considered him, then, “I stand by my opinion, Viking. You cannot be trusted. In the end, you will have a choice, and you _will_ betray us.” The way he spoke, it made Michael wonder if Alex and Kyle had dared trust others before, and had been betrayed.

“_For now_, however, my sole concern lies with freeing my prince from this curse. For that, you will do. And rest assured, I do not fear for Alex’s safety, for even in his weakened state, you are no match for him. When you betray us, I promise you, you will die at his hand.”

Kyle turned and left with his dagger. He made it to the edge of the forest before Michael called out. “Hunter. My brother and sister search the forest now for the source of the spreading darkness. Mind them.”

Kyle said nothing as he disappeared behind the trees. Michael stared at the black blood on the ground and coating Alex’s shirt. Alex shuddered and his eyes slowly opened.

Michael felt the doubt and trouble in his chest fade as Alex searched his face with those brilliant brown eyes. His heart thrashed as he leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to Alex’s lips. It was too gentle for what the two had been accustomed to, but Michael could not find it in him to care.

“What was that you had called me earlier?” Alex spoke quietly. “ ‘My darling?’”

Michael blinked, his cheeks and the back of his neck heated at the thought. “Had I? You must have been hallucinating.”

“Odd,” Alex muttered, closing his eyes. “It seemed awfully real.”

“It could not have been,” Michael said gruffly. “I would never utter such a thing.”

The corners of Alex’s lips rose in a small smile. Michael could not deny it, nor did he want to. The prince looked beautiful.

“Shame.”

Michael searched him for any sign of amusement, but the archer was serious. Michael swallowed down a smile of his own, gently moving Alex’s head off his lap before he shifted to Alex’s side. He curled an arm around the prince’s shoulders, and another under the back of his legs.

Alex, who seemed to just realize what he was doing, fidgeted. “Stop it, I can stand.”

Michael nuzzled his cheek, and was satisfied when the prince fell silent. He whispered, “Hold onto me, archer.”

Alex relented, his arms coming around Michael’s shoulders. Michael carried him inside the cottage and set him on the bed. Instead of leaving him, he sat down beside him, pulling the wool up to cover them. Alex seemed surprised, but he rested his head on Michael’s shoulder, and the Viking settled on the mattress with the prince in his arms.

“Must you not return to your village now?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Michael asked. “Because I refuse to.”

Alex scoffed lightheartedly. “Of course you do.”

Michael ran a hand along Alex’s arm, his fingers grazing the back of the archer’s before he hesitantly laced their fingers together. The prince stared at their hands before he too curled his fingers.

Michael took that as permission to kiss Alex’s temple, then his cheek. He remembered all too well the look of agony on Alex’s face as his magic healed him, and held him tighter. Alex noticed.

“You almost seem afraid for me, Viking,” he mumbled, clearly still exhausted.

Michael smirked against his ear before he kissed that as well. “Afraid for you. The very thought.”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Blasphemy,” Michael said with a whisper. He looked down at Alex’s resting figure, and knew they did not have long before Kyle returned. “The darkness,” he said, and began to regret it the moment Alex’s eyes opened, his shoulders tense. But he had to know. “Did it follow you here?”

_Did you unintentionally break your promise to me, that my village would stay safe?_ Michael did not want to ask the words, yet as Alex moved away from him, releasing his hand from Michael’s, the Viking knew the archer had heard the question after all.

“I do not know, Viking,” Alex said, his voice still quiet, but colder. He crossed his arms in that way he used to when closing himself off, keeping Michael at a distance. “My brothers, it seems, have been possessed to do my father’s bidding. I cannot say whether they had sensed my presence and followed me. But Flint told me my curse is fading faster than I realized, so we must be near the end of our journey now.”

“Alex –”

“Fear not,” he said curtly, looking away from him. “We will leave soon, and you will never have to set eyes on us again.”

“Do not speak of that now, look at me,” he urged, turning Alex’s face to his. “_Look at me_.” Alex sighed as Michael’s eyes caught his and held them. “The darkness has infested our village.”

Alex frowned. “What?”

“Our great well,” Michael explained. “Archer, it nearly touches the water now, and the people are afraid.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his eyes looking everywhere and nowhere at once. Michael had taken to learn that meant that the prince was in deep thought. “I do not believe my father’s dark magic can poison the water, but… I will have to see it to be sure. We must go now,” he tried, and winced almost instantly.

Michael helped him against the pillows, his hands on his shoulders. “You cannot move!”

“No one will see me,” Alex promised. “I will cover my face. I will stay hidden.”

“That is not what concerns me, you foolish prince! Do you think I can bear to see you hurt again?!” he demanded, and Alex fell silent, surprise coloring his expression.

“You are still weak,” he said. “You need _rest_, so for the love of Thor, allow _me_ to be the prideful one, and _do as you are told_!”

Alex looked down at the blanket. “But your village…”

“You will examine the well, and you will do it today after sundown,” Michael grumbled. “By then there will be less risk of being seen, your injury will have healed better, and my family will not be out looking for you or…”

Alex’s face darkened. “My brothers?”

Michael shook his head. “It seems impossible. Such a _thing_ was your brother?”

“I told you my father was evil,” Alex said. “Did you think I was lying?”

“I simply had not imagined he could be so… cruel. To do that to his own son. I can only imagine what he did to you.”

“It is in the past,” Alex said tightly.

Michael could not take the way the prince held himself, as if forbidding him to come closer. “Hold your arms out.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

Michael tugged on his wrists, willing the archer to hold out his arms. He leaned in against Alex’s chest, careful not to hold him too tightly as he wrapped his arms around his waist.

“You nearly vanished in my arms today, archer,” he breathed as he listened to Alex’s heart beat against his ear. “Let me comfort myself.”

Alex said nothing, but he put his hands on Michael’s shoulders, and the Viking’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I wish I could touch you,” he said so quietly he was sure Alex could not have heard him. “But I do not wish to cause you more pain.”

Alex cupped his jaw, and made him look up. “Your touch could never cause me pain,” he leaned down, kissed him softly, and with a small curl of his lips, added, “_my darling_.”

“Damn you,” Michael breathed and closed the distance between them again, kissing the prince more fiercely. He raked his fingers through Alex’s soft locks, swallowing the delicious moan that left his lips.

He pulled Alex against him, but the archer winced, and Michael immediately pulled back. “Sorry,” he panted, his forehead against Alex’s. He touched his jaw. “I am sorry, my beauty, I lost control.”

Alex bit his lip, his brows furrowed as if in pain. He shook his head, his grip on Michael’s shoulders tight. “I want you to kiss me,” he said.

_I want you to kiss me, but if you touch my body, it will hurt me._

Michael buried his fingers in Alex’s hair. “Then I will kiss you.”

And so he did. Michael could not believe the fire in his stomach as his tongue fought Alex’s, as his lips melted against the archer’s. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, devouring the archer’s mouth. He cupped Alex’s jaw with his other hand, groaning against his lips.

He thought the pleasure of the archer’s body was all he had wanted, but _kissing_ Alex gave him an entirely different form of pleasure. He felt as if he was in a field, surrounded by flowers, lying with Alex as a waterfall sounded behind them, spraying them with a light, cool mist.

It was just them, alone, with no limitations or goodbyes in sight. Alex exhaled softly as Michael moved his lips to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, then back up to his lips. Michael was not satisfied until Alex’s lips were the same dark shade of red as his cheeks. They had to pull apart a long while later, for Michael wanted Alex to have the chance to rest before their journey tonight. Kyle had come back to find Michael in bed alongside his prince. Alex, thank _Odin_, had been asleep against Michael’s side.

Kyle gathered a few nets and his dagger as if preparing to bring fish for their dinner, and barely flinched when Michael said he and Alex would go to the village later in the night to examine the darkness that had infested their well.

Alex had woken as Kyle slung the nets over his shoulder. He sat up straight, seemed to realize Michael was next to him, and in one leap, was on the ground, as far away from Michael as he could have been. Michael tried to ignore the way his heart fell into his stomach as he pulled himself off the bed, very graciously resisting the urge to pull the archer back into his arms and keep him there.

But it… meant nothing. Not really. He cared for the archer, he longed for his touch every waking moment, but it was all right. It did not have to mean anything.

“Perhaps you can join us,” Alex offered when Kyle had reminded him to take his arrows. Michael unconsciously stepped closer to the archer’s side, possessive. “We could use your skills.”

_We could?_ Michael almost asked except that Alex was watching Kyle warily. Much to the Viking’s dismay, Alex _wanted_ Kyle to come.

“No,” Kyle said gruffly, his back still turned to them. “It would be more difficult to stay hidden if we both go. I trust you not to get caught.” Alex’s shoulders fell as Kyle reached the door, and Michael almost put a hand to the base of his spine.

But then the hunter stopped, hesitated, then turned to Alex. He cupped Alex’s jaw, caressing the archer’s cheek. Michael’s fists clenched at his sides and he looked away.

“Take care, Sire,” he said, his voice soft. It sharpened as he spoke to Michael. “If anything happens to him, if anyone hurts so much as a _hair_ on his head, I will hold _you_ personally responsible.”

And before Michael could argue that he would not dream of letting anyone touch the archer, Kyle turned and walked out into the dark night.

There was no sign of Kyle outside as Alex slung a dark cloak around his shoulders, the bow and arrows held tightly against his back. Michael did not know how to feel as he and the archer stepped into the forest, away from the cottage, towards his home. They had been in the forest plenty before, but they had never been in his village together – Alex had never been there at all – and there was something about Alex’s presence so near his own cottage that made his chest fill with warmth.

More than once, as the village came into sight and Michael led the way, Michael wondered what were to happen if he were to take Alex to his cottage, to show him the place he lived, where he had slept. Michael imagined Alex discovering the many lovers he’d had, and turning away. Michael imagined Alex lying on his bed, his skin bare and silver in the moonlight. He imagined wiping away any trace of anyone else until the very walls of his cottage could recognize the archer, until his home refused anyone that was not Alex. Michael found the idea not only did not frighten him, but that it enticed him to make it a reality.

It took him a moment of staring at Alex to realize that Alex was _speaking_ to him.

“_Where is the well_, Viking?” he repeated in a half-whisper, clearly exasperated.

Michael blinked. “Er – right around here. It is at the very center of the village.”

They came up to the well, and as Michael had feared, the darkness had spread to almost all of the bricks, as well as a bit of the earth surrounding the well.

“By the gods,” Alex muttered, his brows furrowed as if he had seen this darkness before, and knew it all too well. It reminded Michael of someone.

“Archer, why would this happen here? What does your father want with the village?” Michael asked as Alex crouched, examining the stones more closely. His fingers hovered near them, but Michael pulled at his wrist. “Are you mad? Don’t touch it!”

Alex sighed. “In truth, Viking, I have my suspicions, though I cannot be certain _unless_ I touch it.” He stared, and Michael realized he was waiting to be released. Michael hesitated, then let him go.

Alex fingers neared the stone, and as soon as he touched it, the archer inhaled sharply and let go. His hand was trembling as if it was frozen. “As I feared,” he breathed, and Michael touched his arm. Alex curled into him. “This is not the poison I was touched with, but a shadow.”

“How can you be certain?”

“What my brother left had burned into the ground. Ice _can_ burn if it is strong enough. This one is not, though I could not have been sure unless I felt it for myself.”

Michael was beginning to nod, then he realized something. “Hold on. So if you _burned yourself_, then you would’ve known it was poison?”

“Yes,” Alex said very matter-of-factly. “But as I am still alive, it was not poison, so all is well.”

“All is well, he says,” Michael repeated faintly. “_Sweet Thor_, I knew you were to be the death of me.”

Alex smirked. “I knew you cared. Right then,” he pulled his sleeves up. “Stand back.”

“What?”

“I think I had the right idea before. My father knows the savior of Mirolet lives here, and has been using the well to discover who it is.”

“He’s been watching us through the _water_?” Michael said incredulously.

“Yes,” Alex said grimly. “That is why the bricks have turned dark. He has been here, amongst you. However, I do not think he found the savior. If he had, he would not have bothered…” he cleared his throat. “He would not have bothered sending Flint after me.”

“You?”

“I am on the quest to find the savior and save Mirolet,” Alex said. “It is likely the savior has no idea who they are, or what they are meant to do. If I fail my quest, if I do not find the savior or I am killed before I can manage it, then Mirolet stays in the shadows.”

Alex straightened. “Nevertheless, I must remove this darkness before it can touch the water. I think the most harm it can do now is take the happiness from whoever drinks it, but that is too high of a cost.”

“Hang on,” Michael grabbed his arm. “Using magic nearly killed you, you are not doing it again!”

Alex held his eyes. “Would you prefer your entire village be deprived of water?”

Michael clenched his jaw. “There must be another way!”

“There is not.”

“I thought you despised Vikings!”

“But I will not cause their misery!” Alex snapped. “I will not cause _your_ misery!”

Michael blinked. “Alex…”

“I have caused enough destruction,” Alex said through grit teeth as he glared at the darkness, as if it had destroyed his life. Michael remembered that it very much had. “No more.”

Michael took the archer’s face in his hands. “I will not see you hurt.”

“Then look away.”

“Never,” he held him tighter. “We _will _find another way.”

Michael feared Alex would fight him, would refuse, but the archer simply looked away. “I am sorry, Viking, but unless you know of a way to strengthen magic, then…” he trailed off, and Michael could see that he had realized something.

“Wait,” he gripped Michael’s wrists. “That’s it! Kiss me.”

Michael felt a smirk tug at his lips. “You want to do this _now_?”

“You smug idiot,” Alex leaned in. “Just _kiss me_.”

Before Michael could respond with _gladly_, Alex closed the distance between them, taking Michael’s lips in his. Michael’s hands moved from Alex’s face to his shoulders as the archer’s hands came around his waist. Alex deepened the kiss quickly, his tongue against Michael’s, and before Michael could moan, the archer pulled away, and faced the well.

Michael felt disoriented, but he was hazily aware of Alex taking his hand, his other on the well. It woke him up completely when he saw that Alex was shivering at the touch of the darkness, but not as badly as he had been before.

“If I am correct,” Alex breathed, his cheeks flushed, “then our coming together should strengthen my magic.” He closed his eyes, and without waiting for Michael to understand, he began muttering what Michael imagined was a spell.

There was no black mist, no evil cackling, no haunted eyes watching him or fire burning his bones. Nothing Michael had once imagined magic looked like. Instead, the archer’s fingers emitted a faint silver and white glow, as if bathed in moonlight. Alex doubled over with a gasp, the pain clearly affecting him, yet he went on with the enchantment. Michael came closer, his other hand resting on Alex’s back. The touch seemed to be enough to help him carry on with the spell.

As he spoke, the darkness on the well slowly disappeared, and soon, it was gone completely. Alex finished his enchantment and all but collapsed in Michael’s hold.

When he looked up at the Viking, his eyes narrowed and he was covered in a cold sweat. “Did it work?”

Michael grinned, kissing the top of Alex’s head fiercely. “It worked. My beautiful, brave archer, it _worked_! That was incredible!”

“One word for it,” Alex muttered as Michael helped him straighten, though even when he had managed to stand, Michael kept his hands on the archer’s waist, holding him against him. “Are you planning on releasing me?”

“After that kiss?” he pulled Alex in. “Was that meant to suffice?”

Alex tried to pull away. “We are _not _lying together here.”

“Would you prefer we find a cave?” Michael muttered, holding onto him tightly. Alex’s muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt were so pliant, and Michael could not help but think of how _long_ it had been since he had felt Alex’s skin against his.

Michael exhaled softly against Alex’s neck. “I can take you to my cottage. I do not care. I only want to touch you,” as he said so, he raised his hand under the archer’s shirt, his heart thrashing in his chest at the warmth of the strong, yet soft expanse of skin.

He wondered if he could simply take Alex here, using their cloaks to cover themselves, yet he wanted so badly to take Alex in his cottage, on his bed where he had first imagined touching the archer. He wanted his home to become _theirs_.

Then Alex tensed, his wide eyes focused on something over Michael’s shoulder. “What is it?” he looked behind him, and there it was, a monster of shadows, just like the one that had attacked Alex earlier.

“Brother?” Alex muttered, stepping closer to the monster, but it vanished behind the cottages and into the forest.

“Alex,” Michael said, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. “How many elder brothers do you have?”

Alex exhaled sharply. “Three.”

Michael unsheathed his weapon, his expression grim. “Fantastic.”

Alex and Michael glanced at each other before running behind the monster.

They had reached the end of the forest, at each other’s side. Michael had his sword, and Alex had his bow and arrow out. “Whatever happens,” he warned Alex, “stay close to –”

He had barely finished before the darkness engulfed them, and Michael soon found himself deep in the forest, alone. He looked around wildly, his sword up. He had lived in this village, had _hunted_ through these forests long enough that he could find his way even in the darkest of nights. But this was an entirely different form of darkness. This was unnatural, _evil_. _This_ was the dark side of magic that he had imagined.

“Alex!” he called, though the sound echoed as it should not have, and was met with silence. “Archer, where are you?!”

“Trouble,” a voice suddenly said, and Michael whipped around to find a man, drenched in shadows, staring glumly at him. He had the same brown hair as Alex, the same eyes, though he lacked the glimmer that Alex’s eyes always held. “But then, he always had a gift for getting himself into trouble.”

“You,” Michael pointed the tip of his sword at him, the two on opposite ends of a clearing. It reminded Michael of the first time he had faced the archer, except that now he felt no excitement buzzing through his body, only a cold misery he could not bear. “Which of Alex’s brothers are you?”

At the mention of the archer’s name, the man’s frown deepened. “Alex. How I miss him. How I wish I could see him one last time.” He looked up at Michael. “I cannot fight him, and I certainly cannot kill him. Father could force Gregory or Flint, but not me. I suppose it is because I protected him so much when we were younger. Does he still remember me? Clay?”

Michael’s hand tightened on the hilt. “You will not go near him.”

“No,” Clay agreed. “For Gregory is with him now. I had begged to kill you instead, for you mean nothing to me.”

“Me?” Michael growled. “And what would your monster of a father want with _me_?”

“Dear me,” Clay said. “Have you still not figured it out? Alex is not the only one destined to find the savior. But you both are, together. Without one, the other fails.”

Michael blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I am… part of Alex’s destiny?”

“Of course,” Clay heaved sadly. “We are here, after all, because we sensed the savior. Their time is coming soon. It is only father’s misfortune that you and Alex so happen to also be here together, for only you both together can end the darkness. We might have buried the village in shadows much sooner, but my brother’s presence forbids it. His magic is too bright, you see.”

Michael’s heart leapt. The monsters were not here for Alex, had not followed him here, but instead, it was Alex’s presence that kept Michael and the village safe! Michael wanted to hold Alex, to beg forgiveness for ever doubting him, to reassure him that he had not caused any destruction, but that he had saved the Vikings from being lost to the darkness as Mirolet had. But Clay was watching him closely.

“Right then,” Michael said slowly. “If you plan to kill me, I hope you will attempt it now. I must go see Alex.”

“Fear not,” Clay said, “for he is certainly dead by now.”

Michael froze. “What – what do you mean?”

“Gregory has taken him,” Clay sighed. “After Alex, Gregory was always the hardest to control. He yearns for blood, and he will have killed Alex the moment he had taken him.” Clay tilted his head, and Michael could see that the man’s figure, his white, blue, and silver clothing – the fabric as thin as Alex’s clothes – turned darker, as if the man was slowly turning to shadows himself. The whites of his eyes turned black, and his arms turned to spikes, sharp enough to impale Michael with one strike.

But Michael did not care. Alex could not be dead. Michael thought of the way he had barely been able to stand before they had run into the village, and felt his heart bleed. His hand on his sword trembled, but not with fear, but rage. He thought of Alex’s smile, his warmth, his kiss, his touch, the ice in his eyes that seemed somehow warmer than fire.

His Alex was not dead. He refused for that stubborn, arrogant prince to die before Michael told him… before he told him….

“I suppose there would be no point to killing you… now that Alex is dead,” Clay said. “But, you see, I loved my brother once. I may not feel it now, but I loved him. And if he died… then you must die as well.”

The man transformed completely, no longer resembling a man at all. Michael raised his sword over his head, thinking of his beautiful prince, and as the monster charged at him, Michael yelled and swung.

There was a light. Alex had entered the forest with Michael at his side, and too quickly was he absorbed in shadow and taken away. He could feel the cold of the darkness seeping into his muscles, his very bones, attempting to burn him from the inside. This darkness was not merciful, it wanted to kill him without giving him a chance to stand. Then there was an orb of golden light, Alex heard a familiar screech, and he was released, thrown into a tree in a small opening.

He forced himself up, looking for Michael. Instead, he saw a small boy trembling against a tree. He had black hair, dark eyes, and his lower lip quivered as if he was going to cry as he held a torch in his hands.

“Y-you,” the boy whispered. “Y-you’re the monster, aren’t you?”

Alex frowned. “Monster?” He narrowed his eyes. “I am no monster, boy.”

“You have to be!” he yelled, swinging his torch in front of him wildly, as if trying to ward Alex back. “I know everyone that lives in the village, and I do not know you! You _are_ the monster! Do not lie to me!”

“No,” he said softly. “I am not. I promise you. Here, look.” He knelt, keeping at a distance so as not to scare the child. He pulled his sleeve down, revealing the silver charm on his bracelet. “Do you see this? It is a symbol of my kingdom. I am not a monster, I am a prince.”

The boy blinked several times, his brows furrowed as he stared at the charm. He stopped swinging the torch. “A… a prince?”

Alex nodded. “What are you doing in the forest on your own?”

The boy shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. “I… I only wanted to find the monster. A darkness has infested my village.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “I wanted to help my parents find it, but they would not let me go with them.”

“So you snuck away?” Alex sighed. “My, how brave you are. Or incredibly foolish. Perhaps both.”

“But I got lost!” he cried, and Alex feared the torch would fall and the fire would extinguish. “I cannot find my way back now!”

Alex stood, looking around. He was tempted to call for Michael, but feared exposing the Viking to this boy. Alex had no idea what the villagers would do if they found out Michael had allowed a stranger into their midst.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and the boy jumped.

“E-Elias.”

Alex nodded, picking up his bow and arrow off the ground. “Keep close, Elias,” he said. “The real monster, I suspect, is upon us.”

The boy squeaked and ran to Alex’s side, gripping the hem of his shirt tightly. Not for the first time, Alex wished he had Kyle with him. Kyle was always so much better with other people. Alex clenched his jaw, searching the shadows for the one that had brought him here. The one he wished for, in honesty, more than anyone else at the moment, was Michael. Was his Viking all right? He had to be. He just had to.

“Are you looking for me, brother?”

Alex heard and aimed his arrow as Elias gasped and hid further behind him. The warmth of the fire touched Alex’s leg, but did very little to help him as his brother Gregory emerged from the shadows, his piercing eyes glaring at Alex, the cold of his shadows chilling the archer’s bones.

“Gregory,” Alex breathed. “Where’s Flint? Where’s Clay?”

“Flint is being punished,” his brother muttered. His brows were furrowed slightly, as if angry, and Alex wondered if his brother could even really see him. “For failing father.”

Alex moved to hide the boy behind him completely. He had to get him away from here. “Believe me, he tried. I, it turns out, am not as easy to injure as I once was.”

Gregory then grinned widely, his lips cracking as the smile stretched from ear to ear, and Elias whimpered, his grip on Alex’s shirt tightening. “Oh, I know. I knew killing you would be a challenge.” He tilted his head at the torch in Elias’s hands. “I had not expected such a small orb of light to distract me.”

“I suppose you failed then as well,” Alex said grimly.

“Caught me by surprise, is all,” Gregory responded with an idle wave of his hand. “D’you know? I always hated you, Alexander.”

Alex swallowed, moving himself and Elias back as Gregory approached. “I don’t believe that. You loved me, brother, as I loved you.”

“It was always, ‘Alex this, Alex that,’” he went on, ignoring Alex. “Father claimed to hate you, but he spoke of no one else. He had such high hopes for you, but you were such a disappointment. If only you’d learned to hide like the rest of us. Mirolet would not have dissolved into the shadows.”

Alex’s hand tightened on his arrow. “This is the darkness speaking. My brother was a hero, a _good_ man. Not the hollow echo I see before me!”

“Oh, how very wise of you,” Gregory drawled. “Prince Alexander the Wise. Always thought you were so much smarter than the rest of us, did you not?”

“Elias,” Alex whispered as his brother went on. “You must go, run from here.”

“B-but,” he whimpered, “what about you?”

“Forget me, you must run!”

“No!” he held on. “I will not leave you here alone!”

“Courage,” Gregory laughed deeply. “Courage as well.” He raised an arm, and Alex and Elias both watched with horror as it turned into a long spike with a sharp tip. “Let us see, then, how brave you are with your precious prince, boy.”

He ran at Elias, but Alex released his arrow. It hit his brother’s arm, and shot him back against a tree.

“GO!” he yelled, and shoved Elias back towards the thick trees until he could no longer see him.

Alex aimed another arrow, and shot it into the monster’s stomach. He laughed.

“You cannot bear to pierce my heart, brother,” he said. “That will be your downfall.”

He lunged at Alex, tossing him to the ground, but Alex had already aimed another arrow. He released it into his brother’s eye, and the monster screamed, jumping off him.

“Where is Michael?” he demanded, a fourth arrow already aimed. “What have you done to him?!”

“Clay – the _weakling_ that he always was,” Gregory hissed, “could not bear harm _you_, but as you and the Viking are destined to find the savior together, killing one of you should be enough. The Viking, I assume, is already dead. But it matters not. For murdering _you_, you see, is but a _favor_ from father.” He stood slowly, transforming into the same monster Alex had seen Flint turn into, his body leaking black blood. “I will return your head to him,” his many voices taunted, “and I will _finally_ be his favored son.”

He approached, but Alex did not move. Clay had taken Michael? Was he already dead? Truly? Michael could not heal himself as Alex could, and was a Viking any match for a monster that could move in the shadows? Alex felt an incredible fire surge through him as he thought of Michael, his Viking, gone from this world.

He aimed the arrow. “_Favored_,” he breathed. “What a loathsome word.” He was about to shoot the arrow into the monster’s heart, but right then, a ball of fire hit the side of Gregory’s face and he screeched as the now empty torch fell to the ground. Elias stood amongst the trees, panting. He had come back.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“FOOLISH BOY!” Alex yelled. “I TOLD YOU TO GO –”

He barely finished before Gregory rounded his dark eyes on the child. Elias tried to run, but Gregory was faster. Alex yelled “NO!” as the shadowed monster aimed his sharp weapon of an arm, and stroke Elias’s chest.

The boy fell back, and Alex, his vision red, felt his magic run wildly in his body, through his toes and fingertips. The silver arrow gleamed in the moonlight, and when he released it, it seemed to cut through the light before it pierced Gregory’s heart. His brother screeched so loudly, Alex wondered how even the trees had not trembled. Then he realized that perhaps only he could hear the scream, and Gregory turned back to his human form before him. The darkness in his eyes seemed to fade, and his brother mouthed something to him with a kind smile, the kind he had begrudgingly given Alex when they had been children, before he disappeared into the moonlight.

Alex only had a moment to be stunned before he was forced back to reality by Elias, sitting up slowly, his hand on his chest.

“Ow,” he moaned, then looked around, startled. “Where is it? Is it gone? Has the monster gone?”

Alex stormed up to him, and knelt in front of him. He reached for the gold chain around Elias’s neck, and saw a dented pendant. In the center, there was the painted portrait of a woman and her child. The blood around it was still dry, dry enough that Alex knew by looking at it that it was _not_ the boy’s. He realized it had most likely been taken by force by an older, more experienced Viking.

“You saved me,” Elias said with wonder. “Thank you!”

Alex’s fingers clenched tightly around the pendant, and held it up roughly for Elias to see. “See this, you careless child?” Elias’s smile fell. “_This_ pendant saved your life. Do you even know the name of its previous owner? Do you know who to thank in your prayers?”

He released it, and Elias held it up to examine the photo, as if he had never really considered who the people in the portrait may be.

Alex stood. “Let that dent serve as a reminder,” he said. “That you are indebted to save someone as it has saved you. You have the makings of a true hero. _Do not_ waste it.”

Elias looked up at Alex slowly as if finally able to see him, and all he could do was nod as Alex pulled him to his feet. He told Elias to return to his cottage and not look back.

No sooner had he gone than Alex heard Michael, _his_ Michael, calling his name.

“Alex! You bloody, abominable archer, _where are you_?!”

He stepped into the clearing just as Alex had started to follow the voice. His eyes fell on Alex, they shined fiercely, and with a huff, the Viking pulled Alex into his arms, holding him tightly.

“I knew it,” Michael panted, his hold on Alex so tight that the archer could hardly breathe, but he did not mind it. He could not lift his arms to Michael’s waist as they were pressed tightly to his sides, but he buried his face in the crook of Michael’s neck, and inhaled the Viking’s scent. He was, Alex realized, trembling. “I knew that monster was lying. I knew you were alright. Bloody hell, were you about to make me search the entire mountain as well to find you?”

“I had a bit of trouble of my own,” Alex managed to say.

“I killed him,” Michael said, and Alex could not say anything. He knew the Viking was talking about Clay. “I pierced his heart. He – he lied to me, Alex. He told me,” Michael pulled back, one arm around Alex’s waist, his other hand cupping Alex’s jaw. “He told me…” the Viking shook his head, and Alex could see the concern in his eyes, The _fear_. Alex closed the distance between them, kissing him. Michael would not let him go after that.

“You stupid… _stupid_ prince,” Michael kissed him between words. “I thought I… almost lost you. Oh, my darling… my beauty… I thought…”

Michael did not know if Alex’s heart was racing against his chest, or if that was his own heart beating.

“I adore you,” he breathed, unable to help himself as he kissed Alex again and again, trying to reassure himself that Alex was here, with him in his arms, alive and _safe_.

“I worship you…” Michael kissed him, and kissed him, and _kissed him_. He kissed his lips, and cheek, and jaw, and neck, and brought up his hands to his lips to kiss as well. He even kissed his charm.

“I… I…”

_I love you._ Michael’s eyes opened to see Alex smiling at him as if he was about to both laugh and cry at once, his brown eyes turned silver in the moonlight. And he could not breathe. He could not think. He could no longer deny it. He loved this archer, this prince, this man. He loved him more than he imagined himself ever able to love. He loved every inch of him, every part. He would not let him leave after his quest. He would keep him here, with _him_. He would keep Alex at side for all eternity because he loved him. He loved him, he loved him, he _loved_ him.

“Alex –”

But Alex gasped then, and said, “We have to return to Kyle!”

Michael stared. “Are you trying to be funny _now_?”

Alex, despite himself it seemed, huffed a laugh, but it quickly faded. “No, Gregory and Clay are… they are what they are, but Flint is still alive! The only one of us left on this quest is Kyle! He is in danger, we must go now!”

And so they ran. Alex ran as fast as his legs could take him, and Michael followed, Alex’s hand still captured in his, and the Viking refused to let go.

The cottage came into view soon, the lights bright and golden in the windows, and just as they touched the shore, Kyle came running out.

He spotted Alex. “Sire! I was just coming to find you! _Hurry_!”

Alex and Michael glanced at each other, but did not slow down. They ran into the cottage to see not only a woman’s face, but her entire self standing in the middle of the room, her image staring into the distance. She was bathed in gold with big brown curls on her head. Her skin was dark, and around her neck was a very familiar silver necklace that made Michael’s heart fall into his stomach.

“This is her,” Alex breathed, coming to examine the woman closely. “By the gods… this is _her_. The savior, the one destined to restore Mirolet to light!”

“The candles worked on their own,” Kyle said, and Michael noticed he was avoiding both his and Alex’s eyes. “The spell started, and I could not stop it. I am only thankful you arrived in time to see her. _Your Majesty_,” he said, his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “We _found_ her.”

Alex grinned widely, and he and Kyle hugged with a hearty laugh from each of them. Michael’s eyes, however, were on the necklace. His heart beat painfully in his chest, something akin to dread building. “Archer,” he said, “what is that?”

Alex looked at the necklace, still grinning. His eyes were shining. “That? That is the sacred flower of Mirolet. Purple petals with golden pollen. Otherwise known as the Flower of Frost. It contains many magical properties. It is the flower that we use to create the barrier that hides us.” He stood next to Michael with a deep sigh. He sounded, for once, as if he could breathe. “That necklace is our beacon, Michael. The savior was said to have it, that it was passed down to her through generations. Now, all we have to do is find this woman.”

But Michael could not share in their excitement. All he knew was that he had seen this woman before, he _knew_ who she was, for he had taken that necklace from her himself. It was the gypsy. The gypsy Michael had killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Chapter Seven. The Light of Love

The world had shattered with the sparkle in the archer’s eyes. His smile had been so wide, his gaze so warm, the glitter so close to tears of joy that the truth lodged itself in Michael’s throat, unable to come out.

Michael felt himself turn numb even as Alex took his hand excitedly. Even Kyle had not seemed so bothered, merely happy to see Alex happy.

“Do you know this woman, Viking?” Kyle had asked, and Michael had avoided their gazes, shaking his head. “She must be in your village.”

“Per – perhaps she lives in the mountains. Or the neighboring woods. Or on the other side of the river.”

“Sire,” Kyle had said . “If the Viking cannot recognize her, then she must not be in this land. We should pack our things and –”

“No!” Michael objected before he knew what he would say, his hand tightening on Alex’s, keeping him close. “I am – er – certain I have seen her.”

“You just said you didn’t,” Kyle said.

“No, I have,” he said, tugging Alex closer. “I – I simply do not know her name. But I have seen her. I will look for her myself, and bring her to you.”

“We must go now,” Alex said, and took one step to the door before Michael caught an arm around his waist, one hand cupping his jaw, his eyes on Alex’s lips rather than his eyes.

“I cannot.”

“No, _I _will go,” Alex said quickly. “We can,” he broke off into a laugh. “We can go together! All three of us!”

“Listen to me,” Michael said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I… I will bring her to you tomorrow, when the sun has risen. Now, it would only wake the entire village.”

Alex tightened his fists in Michael’s coat. He seemed to be putting in a lot of effort to refrain himself from searching for the woman now. “O-of course. Yes. But the darkness is gone from the well now, and having finally found the savior, your village will no longer be in any danger. Your people will rest peacefully tonight.”

Michael could only nod, mustering half a smile that felt like a lie.

Kyle had fixed him with an unreadable look, and excused himself from the cottage on the pretense of checking the barrier. He patted Alex on the shoulder amiably, and Alex had taken his hand before the hunter had left the two alone. He had then turned to Michael with wet eyes.

“_Finally_,” Alex whispered. “I will be free.”

Michael held his face more tightly. “You… you have waited long, have you not?”

“Longer than you could imagine,” he breathed, and came to rest his forehead on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael wrapped his arms around the archer’s body. It was so intimate a gesture, to hold one another in such a way, when neither was ill or in need. Michael wanted to hide his face in the crook of the prince’s neck, to relish in his warmth, to inhale his scent. But he could already feel a heavy weight in his chest, threatening to come out, and he feared that, if he spent any longer with the archer, it would escape.

He forced himself back, pushing away from Alex who clearly wanted to hold on, and pressed his lips together. “At first light, I will begin my search.”

Alex seemed surprised with the distance, but he was so overjoyed with the discovery they had made, unable to let his spirits dim. He nodded. “I will wait for your word. In the meantime, Kyle and I shall keep working on the enchantment here.”

Michael could only nod.

Alex looked over his shoulder where the image of the woman had been, and looked back at Michael. “Keep in mind, Michael,” he said with a smile. Not _Viking_, but _Michael_. “A prince waits for no one. Do not leave me for long.”

Michael stopped at the door. He swallowed, stormed back to Alex, took his face in his hands, and crashed their lips in a bruising kiss.

“I _worship_ you,” he whispered fiercely against the archer’s lips. “If you trust in anything, trust in that.”

Alex’s eyes fell to his lips, and surged forward to kiss him again. “Can you not stay? Stay with me, celebrate, for fortune is finally on our side.”

Michael felt his heart break into pieces, his sky turned dark and unforgiving. The gods knew what he had done, and for once in his life, he did not think they were proud. He, after all, was the reason the bright light in this beautiful prince’s eyes was to burn away. _He_ had destroyed the hope and happiness of the one who mattered most to him.

He was not the favored, he realized. For what he had done, he was the cursed.

Michael pressed their foreheads roughly together, hoping that the force of it would let Alex into his mind and allow him to see the truth for himself without Michael needing to say it. He pushed away, towards the door, without a second glance.

“I will return,” he said and closed the cottage door behind him, stepping into the cold, silent night.

He could not hear the crackle of the fireplace, nor Alex as he undoubtedly paced the cottage floor, far too anxious for what was to come.

“Viking?”

Michael straightened at the sound, his heart still hammering in his chest. “Hunter?”

Kyle approached him from the darkness of the shore, his brow raised. “You seem ill. Does the discovery not thrill you?

Michael cleared his throat. “I am all right. Better than all right. I am only happy that…”

“His Majesty is happy,” Kyle finished. “I can understand that.”

“And you?” Michael crossed his arms. “You have searched for this kingdom for a long time as well.”

“Yes, I have,” the hunter answered, still watching with his dark eyes. “If not for the prince, Mirolet would be the only home I had ever known.”

“You are a faithful friend.” Michael had meant it to be a complement, but at the word ‘friend,’ Kyle scowled.

“If you expect me to thank you, you will be waiting a very long time.”

Michael looked away. “I do not want your gratitude.”

“You do not have it,” Kyle reassured him. “And it matters very little either way, for once we have found the savior, we will leave this land.”

Michael’s jaw clenched, his hands turned to fists at his sides. “Alex will not leave me.”

“He is a prince,” Kyle said coldly. “His priority is Mirolet.”

“I will ask him to stay.”

Kyle tilted his head. “No, you will not. You know what his answer would be.”

“Then I shall go with him.”

“And leave behind everyone you know and love?” the hunter smirked. “I cannot imagine such a…” he trailed off, his smirk falling as Michael finally met his gaze. The Viking’s eyes must have been filled with so much pain and remorse, for the hunter’s turned less cruel, and curiouser.

“You are tortured,” he muttered. “You hide something. I can see it in your face, just as plainly as I can see it in the prince’s. You are _afraid_.”

Michael could not answer. Kyle stepped forward, glancing at the cottage door anxiously as if concerned Alex would step out any moment. “Why?” he said more quietly, urgently, as if hoping to clear Michael’s mistake before Alex knew of it at all. “What have you done?”

Michael turned away from him, holding his breath. “You are not thinking clearly, hunter,” he said, moving towards the forest as quickly as he could without making it seem as if he was escaping. “I will return at dawn.”

He did not fear Kyle, but as he moved further away, he could not help but be reminded of Alex’s words.

_“Kyle is loyal, and will do whatever it takes to protect me. Do not mistake a lack of physical strength or frightening appearance for a lack of any strength, Viking. It will be your downfall.”_

He had never understood the weight of those words until now, until Kyle had taken one look at him, realized there was a threat to his prince’s happiness in the Viking, and, without the slightest hint of hesitation, resolved to destroy it.

It was true, he did not fear Kyle. He feared the spark in the hunter’s eyes, the one so different from Alex’s, so much colder, so much darker, and so much like fire that Michael was certain Kyle could use it to burn the entire forest to the ground if he so wished. He feared what the hunter _could_ be.

Something was wrong. Kyle had seen it in the Viking’s eyes, his frown, the way he clung to Alex as if terrified the man would disappear if he let go. Kyle scratched his jaw, trying not to think of the way his fingers had curled around the prince’s waist, the way Alex had _let_ him.

_“We can go together! All three of us!”_

He shut his eyes tight. Together. _We_. It bothered him that Michael had suddenly turned into one of them, that it was no longer just him and Alex, but him and Alex and the bloody Viking. The bloody Viking that Alex was so fond of.

Kyle shook his head. No. He wasn’t brokenhearted about _that_. He had more pressing concerns; the Viking was hiding something, and Kyle didn’t trust it could be any good. Alex’s smile was engraved in his mind. They were close now, _too _close. If anything ruined that…

“The young prince would be crushed.”

Kyle looked up at the strange voice. The sun was rising, shining on the water, and for a moment, Kyle wondered if he had imagined the sound.

“Wonderful,” Kyle muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I am losing his mind.”

A deep laugh sent a shock through Kyle’s body, and he was on his feet in an instant. The water rippled as the voice said, “You are not losing your mind, boy. On the contrary…” Slowly, the shadows beneath the water grouped together, and slower still rose above the surface. The figure had no shape, no eyes, no mouth. Kyle had no idea where the voice was coming from, but it was as if he could _hear_ the shadow smile.

“I can help finally clear your concerns,” the voice said in his mind.

Kyle stepped back. He could feel a chill enter his body, a kind like he had never known before. He wanted to call Alex, he wanted to take the prince and run, to hide away. Nothing would be all right again, he knew. The world was ending, he had no place, and even the person he loved most – his Alex – would burn.

“You will not be harmed, young hunter. Neither will the one you value.”

It took Kyle a moment to find his voice. “What – what do you know of who I value?”

“I know more than you could imagine,” the voice said. “I know what you seek, your enemy, and I know all about your _prince_. I know _all_.”

Kyle clenched his jaw. If he screamed, would Alex hear him? “You’re him, aren’t you? _You’re_ King Jesse. You’re the one who dragged Mirolet into the shadows.”

Jesse’s shadow chuckled, and Kyle shivered. “_Dragged_ Mirolet? I _saved_ it. It is finally free of sorcerers, those vile creatures who only mean harm.”

“You locked your own son in a dungeon!”

“For his own good – but… no matter that now. I have come to speak to you, Kyle. Not Alexander.”

Kyle’s hands tightened to fists at his sides. “Don’t say his name! You’re not worthy of it!”

“And you are?” the voice taunted. “Tell me, boy. What _did_ you think of my son’s confession? Of the murders he committed. The _monster_ he had been?”

Kyle turned pale white, his entire body numb, his mind trying to control one thought, just one; that he still loved Alex. Even after everything, he still loved him. He _did_. But something had shifted, the thought of his prince no longer as warm. Kyle clawed at his chest, desperate to make that feeling go away.

“I love him,” he said, though his voice shook and was quieter than he had hoped it would be. “I – I love him.”

The king, to Kyle’s surprise, did not mock him or attempt to make him deny it, but it was as if he was tilting his head sympathetically. “You certainly do. More than that Viking does, I am sure.”

“He could never love the prince,” Kyle snapped. He was tired, _so tired_, of hearing that man mentioned. “He doesn’t know what love is!”

“_You_ are the one that has spent his life loyal to the prince,” the king pressed. “_You_ are the one who has defended and protected him. _You_ are the one he truly loves.”

And as he spoke, Kyle felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He should hate this man, he knew it, he _knew_ he should, and yet… what he spoke was not a lie. Kyle had spent all his life at Alex’s side; what had the _Viking_ ever done? What had he done to earn Alex’s warm, fond gaze? To earn his _love_ –

Kyle shook that idea immediately. Alex did _not_ love the Viking. Not _his _prince.

“It is unfair, is it not? You have never wanted anyone, never asked for anything. You want the prince now, and you _know_ he would love you if only that Viking were not in your way.”

“In the way,” Kyle repeated with a mutter. “He is in my way.”

“You despise him,” the king hissed. “I can _feel_ your hatred. You anger.”

“I despise him.”

“Then help me, young hunter. Once Mirolet is restored, Alexander will have a kingdom. You will no longer have a place at his side.”

Kyle blinked. Mirolet had been Alex’s dream since long before he had known him. But… would it really be true? Would he lose his prince to the crown forever?”

“But I…” he shook his head. “I can’t hurt him.”

“One of them will do,” the king said with a kind of nod, and Kyle _wished_ he could see the man and not just his shadow. Alex had magic, but he looked and acted like a man. To not see someone’s eyes as you spoke to them… it was jarring. “Kill the Viking, Kyle. You know you want to. You want him out of the way.”

Kyle exhaled slowly. Whatever he had been thinking, he’d forgotten it. Had it been important? He didn’t think so. All he knew was that he no longer wanted to see the Viking anywhere near his prince. “Out of the way.”

“Do as I wish,” the king chuckled deeply, “and you will have all that you wish for. You will have Alexander to yourself.”

Michael did not sleep. He had lain awake in his bed until the sun began to rise in the sky, the sky barely lightening from dark blue to pink and gold before Michael could no longer tolerate sitting in a room that felt too empty without Alex, stuck with his own thoughts. He stormed out, his wool tight around him, though he hardly noticed the cold as it ate his fingers.

What if he just told the truth? He could tell the truth, and Alex might forgive him. Alex might understand.

_Alex? _a voice taunted. _Alex, the man who hated you at first sight because you were a Viking? Because of what you _do_ in other lands?_

Michael realized that the white clouds were quickly forming before his face, his breaths shallow and quick. His hands turned to fists at his sides, then opened, then closed again. He considered going to Max, but his brother was still asleep and the last thing he needed now was to be interrogated by Liz. Part of him feared that if his brother’s wife asked, he would tell her everything.

He wanted Alex. He wanted to be with him. He couldn’t take being away from him like this with only Kyle for company. He turned in the direction of the forest, not knowing what he would say when he showed up at the archer’s front door, or what excuse he would give for not having their savior with him. He kept running possible causes in his head, wondering whether Alex would forgive him for waking him now after such an exciting night, that he hardly noticed when someone had called his name.

He looked up and found the archer himself perched on the high branch of a tree. His eyes twinkled in a way Michael was not used to – _Alex was happy_, he thought miserably – his lips curled in an amused smile.

“Lost in thought?” Alex asked, and leapt down swiftly to land in front of the Viking. All at once, Michael was hit with the man’s smell of wood and sugar, and put his hands on Alex’s waist, keeping him close.

“You’re awake.”

“I could hardly sleep. Kyle went out to hunt. He said a grand feast was in order. I grew restless in the cottage alone. What is your excuse? It is a bit early for you to be out.”

All the lies suddenly vanished from Michael’s tongue as he stared into the brilliant bright eyes of the man he loved, left with nothing but the truth burning his lips, and before he could help himself, or _want_ to help himself, he blurted, “I missed you.”

He thought Alex might pull away from him, might act disgusted by such a confession, but the archer only laughed. “You saw me not long ago.”

“Too long ago,” Michael corrected and pressed their foreheads together. “Is this magic?” he breathed, desperate. “Have I been bewitched? How could I… how could I care for you so?”

For a moment, Alex’s shoulders slumped and Michael could have sworn he was disappointed with his words, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, and his thumb came up to brush the Viking’s jaw, his fingers grazing the hollow of Michael’s throat. Michael’s eyes fluttered and he leaned in, their foreheads pressed tighter together.

“Say it again,” Alex whispered, and Michael shook his head.

“Say what?”

“What you said in the cottage, before you left,” Alex touched their noses together. “I wish you hadn’t.”

Michael swallowed. _I worship you._ “Hadn’t said it?”

“Hadn’t left,” Alex confessed. Michael moved back, searching his eyes. Those brilliant eyes he loved so much. “I have been ever so anxious waiting. I want to go look for that woman, Mirolet’s savior.”

“W-wait, Alex –”

“Only she can save Mirolet. All these years, it’s finally happened, Michael. We’re free. _I’m_ free!”

Michael pulled him in against his chest, holding the archer’s head into the crook of his neck. He held him so tightly he thought he might hurt the archer, but when Alex spoke, his breath hot against Michael’s neck, he said, “You’re trembling.”

Michael tried to sigh, but there was a lump in his throat, and all he could do was press his nose to Alex’s hair and inhale his scent. His heart swelled and his eyes burned.

“I missed you terribly,” Michael said, and cleared his throat. “I thought I mentioned that.”

“Terribly, eh?”

“I worship you,” Michael said into his shoulder. “I _worship_ you. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Alex pulled back, but Michael’s arms around his body did not let him move far. “You said it.”

And he seemed so stunned that Michael could say it with such promise, such heat in his voice, that Michael could not help his lips curling to a small smile. “Odd. Isn’t it?”

Alex brought his hand down, slipping between the layers of wool and clothing, and resting over Michael’s naked chest. “Your heart is racing.”

“Yes,” Michael said so softly he might not have spoken at all. “It almost aches actually.”

Alex rubbed Michael’s nose with his. “Well,” he pressed a soft kiss to Michael’s lips, and the Viking’s eyes fluttered shut, “sharing our bodies has done so much. Let us see if it fixes anything now.”

And Alex took Michael’s lips in his, then again, and _again_, his kisses turning from soft and gentle to harsh and eager. As they kissed, Alex pulled Michael’s wool coat back, letting it fall to the ground, and he made work with Michael’s shirt.

It had been cold, but with every touch, the air around them warmed, and Michael wondered if that wasn’t Alex’s spells keeping them safe from the chill of the snow. Once Michael’s shirt had fallen, he was eager to see Alex stripped of his own clothing. He lifted the thin fabric over the archer’s head, and pulled him in again, reveling in the touch of their naked chests.

Slowly, Michael brought Alex down to lie on a patch of grass which, even that at Alex’s touch had turned dry and warm. Michael stood and watched his beautiful archer spread out before him, and he undid his trousers and undergarments before he stripped Alex of his own. The two groaned as Michael came to rest atop of him, pressing their already hardening cocks together.

He ran his hands down Alex’s back, and felt the remnants of tree-induced scars. His heart sunk into his stomach. “I hurt you. Could you ever forgive me?”

Through Alex’s pants, he took Michael’s face in his hands. His brows furrowed as he searched the Viking’s expression. “What ails you, my darling? Tell me, so that I may help you.”

Michael turned his face into Alex’s palm, kissing him. “I treasure you. If I ever lost you –”

“Is this about Mirolet?” Alex asked. “Do you fear us parting after the kingdom is saved?”

“I…” Michael’s eyes shut tight, and he kissed Alex fiercely, taking the archer’s lips in his own until he could no longer breathe. _After the kingdom is saved._ Alex was so certain their quest was coming to an end, and Michael had taken that away from him. Michael had destroyed his happiness.

Michael lifted Alex’s leg and kissed the archer’s knee as he pressed the hard crux between their legs together again, and his forehead fell onto Alex’s as he grinded into the archer.

This was so much more intimate than the last time they had shared one another’s bodies, much more intimate than the first, because now Michael knew just how much he yearned for Alex, he knew what it meant when his heart jumped in his chest at Alex’s touch, Alex’s tongue, Alex’s cock. He knew that he loved Alex, had loved him since the moment he had seen him, had _been_ loving him since. He knew he would never want anyone else but the archer, he knew he could never be parted with him.

When he slid his cock into Alex, the two finally sharing a body after too long, Alex wrapped his arms around the Viking’s neck, and Michael buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck. The archer’s fingers raked his curls, and Michael moaned against his lips.

“I never want us to part,” he confessed as he thrusted into Alex. The archer gasped, and Michael thrusted more deeply. “Never leave, Alex. I was a fool to wish you away, I was a fool for so many things. I want you to stay. Stay with me.”

Alex scratched his back, urging him in deeper. “You – you have changed. I have seen it. You could not be such a part of me if you were the monster I thought you were. You could not be so warm if it were true. I believe that. You are good, Michael. You are so good.”

Michael nuzzled Alex’s jaw. “_Archer_…”

“I cannot bear to be parted with you either,” Alex whispered, and Michael gripped him tighter, thrusting softly. “I do not know what will happen after Mirolet is restored, but I want to be with you, Viking. I want to stay.”

Michael kissed him. Whether to keep the hope from reaching his ears, or whether because the guilt lurched in his heart, he did not know. But he kissed Alex as if it was the last time he would be permitted to. Michael feared it really would be.

As they lay on the ground after, Michael stared at Alex’s chest as it rose and fell rapidly, then calmly, his breaths evening. Michael took his hand as he turned to look at the sky, and he brought the archer’s fingers to his lips to kiss.

Alex watched him. “Michael. Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Alex, in turn, brought Michael fingers to own lips and kissed them. Michael’s heart melted. “The tremor in your voice. It has not gone.”

“How many times have I told you?” he quietly teased. “There could be no tremor.”

Alex seemed half-amused. “Now _that_ is a blatant lie.”

“Would you not prefer it to the horrible truth?”

“Not if it tortures you so.”

“Nothing tortures me.” Alex said nothing. Michael hesitated, then, “What if the truth of my life, the truth of who I am, of _what_ I am, frightens you away? What if it disgusts you? What if I lose you?”

“Do you not have more faith in me than that?” When Michael didn’t answer, Alex raised a brow. “Have you ever known me to be frightened of anything?”

“Much,” Michael confessed. “You are frightened of everything, I can see it in your eyes. Yet you fight. What if I am not so good as that?”

Alex searched his face, his brows furrowing in that defiant way that Michael loved so dearly. “What if you are?”

Michael’s fingers tightened around Alex, and he came to hover over him, taking the archer’s lips in his in a long, sensual kiss. When he pulled back, he held Alex’s face in his hands.

“I thought I was meant to be the one who asks all the questions,” he whispered, and Alex, caught off guard, burst out into laughter. Michael swallowed the sound quickly, then, with the strength of every muscle in his body, Michael pulled himself up and began slipping on his clothing.

He held Alex’s waist and kissed his shoulders as the archer dressed himself as well. Michael pressed a last kiss to Alex’s forehead, and moved to leave. He’d made it to the end of the clearing before Alex called his name.

He turned halfway, unable to meet the archer’s eyes directly, though he knew the man was smiling. It was kinder, fonder, and more hopeful than Michael had ever seen or expected it could it be.

“For so many years,” he said, “I thought the only truth to my life was Kyle. I was wrong, Michael. I have you as well.”

Michael looked away. “You are my truth, Alex.” _A truth that frightens me to my core, though I do not know if I can fight this fear as you fight yours. _He pressed his lips together in his best attempt at a smile, but he had already turned away.

Alex returned to the cottage with an odd persisting voice in the back of his mind, the one he’d trained to strengthen through the years of archery and hiding his abilities from the people around him. The same one that had warned him against the Viking at first sight, and was now warning him again. _Something was amiss. _What was he not seeing?

_“What if the truth of my life, the truth of who I am, of what I am, frightens you away? What if it disgusts you? What if I lose you?”_

Alex, in that time, knew he should have given the Viking more reassurance, comfort him in the knowledge that Alex was too attached to him now to ever be distanced from him again, but he could not. That unabating voice pestered and pestered his thoughts, all circling around one question, one that troubled him above all.

“_Why_?” he muttered, his heart still hammering in his chest, though Alex feared it not for the same reason it had hammered in the forest with Michael. “Why now?” The timing of it all, the enchantment, Michael’s distraught state, and his brothers’ appearance – what connected them?

Alex shook the idea from his head immediately. Everything was so wonderful now, wonderful as he’d only hoped it would be; he didn’t want to destroy it by losing Michael.

“You seem deep in thought,” he heard a voice, and realized Kyle had been sitting in the shadows.

Alex sighed, rubbing his temple. “Aren’t I always?”

Kyle smirked. “Fair point.”

“When did you return?”

“Not long ago,” Kyle said, and gestured to the window with his chin. “I caught a deer. I’m starting the fire now.”

“My, I did not even notice the flames.”

“Thinking deeply indeed, then.” Kyle tilted his head. “You’re cold.”

Alex blinked and realized he had been mindlessly rubbing his arms to keep warm. He did not think he would soon grow used to _feeling_ again. Before he knew it, Kyle was before him, shrugging off his own coat. He draped it over Alex’s shoulders, running his hands over the wool to keep him warm. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Alex cleared his throat, and stepped out of his friend’s hold. Kyle’s hands remained up, his face expressionless. He slowly brought his arms down, and Alex saw his hands curl into fists.

“So is only _he_ allowed to touch you now?” he asked quietly, and Alex clenched his jaw.

“Do not speak of which you do not understand –”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Sire,” he snapped, and Alex watched him carefully. There was something dark in his friend’s eyes, something he had not noticed before. He clenched his jaw and swallowed. He tried to reach a hand out to touch his shoulder, but Kyle suddenly grabbed his wrist. “He _has_ touched you, has he not? Touched you intimately –”

“_Enough_!” Alex moved away, wrenching his wrist from Kyle’s hold. “What has gotten into you?!”

Kyle’s shoulders fell ever so slightly. “He _has_, then.”

“Kyle –”

“Tell me this, just this,” he said quietly. “If it were not for the Viking, would you have fallen for me?”

Alex shook his head. “You are my brother, Kyle, I love you as my brother, I always have.”

“A brother? Nothing more?”

“Nothing more. I am _sorry_, Kyle – w-where are you going?”

“The meat will be ready soon. I should check on it,” Kyle said, his voice distant as he grabbed his dagger and walked out.

Isobel wrung out the soaked rag, the cold water turning her hands to ice. She sniffed, wiping her nose with her shoulder, and mustered the best smile she could before she turned back to the open door, stepping into Maria’s cottage.

The woman lay asleep on her bed, her dark curls splayed against her pillow, her brown skin, usually rosy at her cheeks, was now glistening with sweat.

She opened her eyes as Isobel drew near, and the corner of her lips turned upward in a smirk. “You look dreadful.”

Isobel scoffed lightly as she sat at Maria’s bedside. “I haven’t a clue what you are talking about. I am always beautiful.”

“Yes,” Maria confessed, her eyes falling shut again. “You are.”

“You should sleep,” Isobel said, gently wiping her brow. “You need to rest.”

Maria sighed. “I have been resting for days.” She attempted to push herself into a sitting position, and Isobel caught her before she fell. “What I _need_ is to push myself.”

“For once, my love,” she muttered, gently guiding her back into bed. “For once, will you not listen to me?”

“You mean you would like for me to see a physician?”

Isobel hesitated. “Perhaps he would find something new? Perhaps there are other medicinal herbs –”

“I have tried them all,” Maria said softly, covering Isobel’s hand on her arm with her own. “I cannot take anymore herbs –”

“But they will help you get _better_,” Isobel insisted. “Maria, do you not see? You _must_ endure if you are to…”

Maria raised her brow, catching Isobel’s blue eyes. She did not look distressed, but amused. “_Live_? You can say it.”

She glared. “Must you treat it as a joke?”

“Herbs can no longer help me, darling. Something else is happening to me.”

“If you say _magic_ –”

“If nature kills, nature heals. Why is it any different with magic?”

Isobel shook her head, moving Maria’s hair from her forehead. “You know I do not share my brothers’ hatred of magic. But _where_ would we find a sorcerer in these lands?” She swallowed. “It does no good to uselessly hope.”

“Hope is never useless,” Maria said. “And I am ill, you cannot disagree with me.”

Isobel moved a curl behind Maria’s ear, and her eyes fell on the necklace around her neck. She lightly touched the glass, the purple flower, oddly enough, seemingly brighter, the pollen more gold. It struck Isobel as odd how little it matched the condition of its owner.

“Do you remember when you gave me this?” Maria asked softly.

“I talked Michael into handing it over,” Isobel scoffed.

Maria’s smile dimmed. “Who did he kill for it?”

Isobel pursed her lips. “Does it matter?”

Maria looked away. “I just wish I could have known her name.”

“What for?”

She shrugged. “Thank her? Apologize?”

Isobel considered her a moment, then took her hand away from the necklace, and said, “That kind of thinking will never please you.”

“Perhaps not,” Maria muttered, turning her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “But I cannot help think it.” She was silent a moment, then, “Sometimes I imagine being somewhere else, somewhere far away, in a land where magic and love runs through the streets, a land all of its own, a land that never takes from another. A good land.”

Isobel stared. “You wound me, Maria.”

“Perhaps you ought to be wounded, my love,” Maria said with a surprisingly kind smile. “You know why I never joined the voyages.”

“I thought,” she shook her head, “soon enough, you would…”

“Change my mind?” Maria’s smile widened for only a moment, then it dimmed again as Isobel held her gaze. “Isobel.”

Isobel cleared her throat, and made to seem that she was pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yes, my love?”

“I have had dreams, _strange_ dreams, as of late. Of a field of flowers, turned to snow. And a boy, all alone, in the middle of it, with a crown of silver, calling for something called… blasted, I can’t remember the name. I think it’s magic. I think…. He’s always crying, and my heart breaks for him, for I know… this is not a boy who cries often.”

Isobel’s brows furrowed. “These sound like nightmares.”

“Oh _no_,” Maria breathed. “They are beautiful dreams… with such a beautiful boy.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I run to the boy, but I can never reach him. He cannot hear me. He is utterly alone.” Maria sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “I love you, Isobel, and yet… sometimes, I cannot help but feel the same as that child.”

Isobel’s heart hammered in her chest, her eyes burning. When she realized Maria had drifted off to sleep, she let a sob release her lips. She pressed her lips together, sniffled, and wrung out the rag once more before she delicately placed it on her darling’s forehead, softly kissed her cheek, and stepped outside.

“She’s not going to die,” Isobel muttered, whether a plea to the gods or reassurance to herself, she did not know. “She’s not going to die, she’s not going to die, she’s not going to die.”

Isobel walked aimlessly as she repeated these words to herself. Without realizing it, she had wandered toward Michael’s cottage. Isobel tried so hard to pretend nothing ever bothered her, and for the most part, very little did. But sometimes, as now, her heart raced uncontrollably, and she could feel a strong anxiety rising to the surface. She could not take it.

She knocked on the door, calling for her brother. After waiting, she heard no response. For a moment, she was about to kick the door down, expecting to find her brother unconscious in bed after another restless night. Then she heard a noise from behind the cottage, like a sword hitting wood.

There was a large tree behind Michael’s cottage that, despite his initial efforts, he never could break it down. Its large and sturdy trunk soon proved an excellent target to practice his swings. If he could cut into the bark, then his swings were as rough and focused as they needed to be.

Now, as Michael swung for what must have been the hundredth time, the trunk was covered in cuts all down its side. Michael was sweating, his arms ached, his hands on the hilt of his sword numb as he stroke again and again and again.

He wanted to see Alex, yet he so badly wanted to be away from him at the same time. The archer could read his eyes better than Michael had thought, and the Viking feared that his secret would be exposed if he returned now.

_And yet…_

“Michael?” a familiar voice sounded. “What are you doing?”

Michael, without turning around, took another swing of his sword, satisfied only slightly at the _thump_ with which the sliver of wood fell away from the trunk.

“Practicing,” he grunted. “What does it look like?”

“I have yet to see practice like this, brother,” Isobel said, and the second Michael felt her hand on his shoulder, he flinched.

He finally faced his sister to find her eyes wide, full of concern, and… red?

His eyes narrowed. “Have you been crying?”

“No,” Isobel sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I was cleaning… the dust…” she trailed off, and while Michael knew she was lying, he also knew that when his sister would not speak, it was pointless to push her.

He nodded, and turned away. The tip of his sword had touched the earth, and as Michael tried to lift it again, he winced, the pain in his wrist and arms too great. “Damn,” he cursed, letting the hilt fall from his hand and rubbing his palm.

“You are not all right,” she noted. “You have not been for weeks. I have seen it, we _all_ have.”

Michael looked anywhere but his sister. “I am training, sister, nothing more.”

“Yes, but training to what?” Isobel sat down on a tree stump, hugging herself. “To forget? No, otherwise you would be drunk off your arse.” Her eyes fell to his hands which Michael now realized had turned purple and blue with the cold and the bruising.

Michael turned away, hiding his damaged skin. “Isobel –”

“No, you train to punish yourself.” She frowned. “Why? What have you done worth – well, I know of a _few_ things you’ve done, but nothing so terrible to deserve _that_,” she gestured to the way he struggled to lift his own sword. “_Dear Loki_, Michael. Why have you done this?”

The words held themselves on Michael’s tongue. He couldn’t tell his sister, she would think him insane. Wouldn’t she? She would expose Alex to Max, and he would have no choice but to kill the trespassers.

Michael took a slow, deep breath. He remembered Isobel when they were children, the way she would cling to Max’s arm whenever their mother and father went out on a voyage. Michael had never confessed it, but he had envied her attachment to their eldest brother. He had wanted her to trust _him_, to take comfort in his presence. Her big blue eyes, always glimmering, always hopeful, always mischievous and yet always so kind, all at once.

It wasn’t until years later that Michael realized Isobel did rely on him, but for different things. With Max, she sought security, kindness, the promise of wisdom always there. With Michael, she sought out jokes, distractions, troubles that were not hers, troubles she could solve. It comforted her, Michael realized, to help others when she could not help herself. Isobel was the village princess, for no one truly cared for the people as she did.

Michael sat down beside her, aware of her eyes on him. He rested his elbows on his knees and interlaced his hands. He had no idea how to start, or what to omit.

“I…” he tried, and before he knew it, before he could _help_ it, his eyes filled with tears that ran down his cheeks in the instant it took him to raise his hand to hide them.

Isobel was shocked, he knew, but he could not stop the flow of tears as they fell. Alex’s smile, Alex’s cure, Alex’s hope – he had destroyed it all with his own hands.

“Brother –”

“I am in love, Isobel,” he choked, his jaw clenched, his nails digging into his skin as he held his hands tighter still. “I am in love with a man that I have killed. I am in love with a man who will hate me.”

“In love? A _man_?” Isobel sounded bewildered, her voice in hushed tones as if she herself did not know how to react to what he had given her. “Brother, what – look at me, it will be all right. Tell me, brother, tell me what you have done.”

Michael told her. Not about Alex’s curse, nor about his magic, nor even his name. He told her about himself. He told her Alex desperately needed a woman to save his life, the same woman he had killed.

At the end of it, Isobel was asking a million questions, questions Michael could not, and would not, answer.

“He will never forgive me,” Michael sniffed when his tears had dried. “That is all you need to know. He will despise me for eternity.”

“Michael, enough,” she warned. “It does you no good to think that way.”

“It is the truth. I cannot… I cannot lose him, Isobel. It will kill me.”

Isobel shook her head. “You truly love him so deeply?”

“Since the moment I saw him,” he confessed quietly.

Isobel said nothing for a moment, her hands on her mouth as her eyes searched the ground. Michael could see that same resolve in her to find a solution as there was in Max. Leaders, the both of them.

“All this time, you have been in love,” she said, seemingly to herself. “And here I thought you were developing an unhealthy obsession with mead.”

Michael scoffed despite himself. “If only. My problems would not be so severe.”

Isobel shook her head. “My brother, Michael, troubled because of _love_. Odd thing, it is.”

“It weighs on me, the guilt,” Michael said. “It haunts my nights, and makes my heart beat violently in my chest. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, I cannot be at peace. He is so beautiful when he smiles, Isobel. _So_ beautiful. And I have taken that away.”

“But he does not know yet, does he? The truth?” Michael shook his head, and his sister sighed. “Michael, you must tell him. This hope, it is false. It is cruel to allow him it any longer.”

“He will leave me if I tell him.”

“Perhaps,” Isobel said, her strong, red-rimmed eyes holding his steadily. “But to leave him in such darkness is to leave him abandoned. Tell him what you have told me, tell him you feared separation from him. Tell him he is not alone.” She was not looking at Michael as she said this, he could tell. She was looking through his eyes to someplace else, though he could not say where. “Stand by him, Michael, for it is such a tragic thing to feel alone.”

Michael wrung his hands, his breaths rapid and short as he made his way through the forest. Every sound was suddenly heightened, Michael could feel the dead leaves and frost cracking beneath his feet through his boots, the cold nipped at the bruises on his hands.

When he spotted the cottage, Kyle outside in front of a fire, preparing a deer with his back turned to the Viking, he nearly turned around.

Michael’s hands trembled for the shortest moment before he pressed them harder together, stilling them. Alex cared for him, he might listen to him, he might understand. It was their way, after all, the way of the Vikings.

With these delusions, Michael pushed himself forward. At the sound of footsteps, Kyle turned around. Michael might have expected him to angrily reach for his dagger, but his eyes only darkened and returned to the meat.

“Leave.”

“I must speak to Alex.”

“Now is not the time, Viking.”

“It has to be now, or it will be never,” Michael said, and, begrudgingly, added, “This involves you as well.”

At this, Kyle turned to him with a raised brow. Michael saw hope rise in an instant. Even what his reaction would be concerned Michael, but he cleared his throat and stepped forward, forcing his hands down to his sides.

Kyle stood slowly, and just as he turned to call Alex, of course, the archer walked out as if he’d known Michael was there the entire time, and wanted to be certain he and Kyle would not kill each other.

“Michael,” he smiled softly, and – Michael assumed for Kyle’s benefit – did not step into his outstretched arms.

Michael was almost glad for it, for he did not think he could bear give the news if he was touching the archer.

“You found her, didn’t you?” Alex said quietly, his smile widening as if he would not dare raise his own hopes, yet could not help it. “You’ve found her!”

Alex, despite himself, jumped into Michael’s hold, and the Viking was left lifting him off his feet. As soon as he touched the ground, he stepped back, his hands on Michael’s arms, and as the Viking had expected at Alex’s touch, the words lodged in his throat.

“Where is she?” Kyle asked, stepping forward himself. “Is she following you here? Is she in the mountains? Alex, we should go get her!”

Alex was just beginning to nod, whatever coldness between them gone for an instant, and while Alex’s eyes looked away, Michael felt enough courage to spit the words out, “I killed her.”

The two went silent in their plans for preparation, and slowly looked back to him.

“What was that?” Kyle said. Neither sounded upset, but as if they were convinced they had misheard him.

Michael looked to Alex as he repeated, “I… I killed her.”

Alex’s brows furrowed slightly. “You…” he huffed a laugh. “That’s – come now, that’s not funny, Viking.”

Michael swallowed, and stepped forward, saying quickly, “It was before we met, the last voyage we had been on.”

Kyle’s eyes filled with dread, and he reached a hand out to Alex, though his dark eyes were still on Michael. “S-Sire?”

“We invaded a town, and there was a woman, a gypsy, who had a valuable necklace –”

“I don’t think this is a jest.”

“No one – _no one_ survived, Alex,” Michael said, and winced at his own words. He took another step towards Alex whose smile had fallen as he spoke.

_“Tell me you didn’t,” _Michael expected Alex to say. _“Oh gods, tell me you didn’t.”_

“Are you certain it’s _her_ you killed?” Alex said instead. “Perhaps it was just… perhaps she looked like her.”

Michael clenched his jaw, his heart hammering so painfully in his chest he feared it would jump out. “She had the same necklace. I… I ripped it off her myself.”

“He ripped it off,” Kyle repeated faintly, covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide and filled with disbelief. “Sire, what… what are we going to do now?”

Alex was staring at Michael. “You knew. You knew who she was the moment you saw her… and you lied to our faces.” He huffed, his expression lost, as if he had forgotten how to breathe at all. “When I asked if you trusted me, you did not answer. Now I know why.”

“N-no,” Michael took Alex’s hand, and Alex wiped a hand over his mouth, seemingly too deep in thought to notice Michael was even there. “Alex, I was terrified of losing you, I – I wanted to tell you, the guilt was _eating away_ at me –”

“The _guilt_?” Alex whispered, and to Michael’s shock, his eyes shone with tears. “Your _murder_ has ruined my life, _countless_ lives, and you expect my pity? I am cursed forever because of you.”

Alex ducked his head, a tear or two falling to the ground before he wiped at his face, removing his hand from Michael’s as if the Viking’s touch had no effect. He turned to Kyle.

“Prepare the wool and some rations, I’ll pack the potions and candles,” he said, his voice hoarse, but steady. “We leave by dawn tomorrow. Best to travel in the light.”

Kyle raised a hand to Alex’s shoulder, seemed to think better of it, and let it fall back to his side. He nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

As he walked off, Michael reached for Alex’s arm again, but the archer had already stepped away. “Alex, _please_. Please, my darling, don’t leave me. I simply – I know you are disappointed, but –”

“Disappointed?” Alex said numbly as he turned away. “Why would I be, Viking? What am I meant to be to you?”

Panic rose in Michael’s chest as he lunged forward, taking Alex by the arms. “No, no, Alex, I promise you, you mean _everything_ to me. Everything, my beauty,” he cupped the prince’s jaw, roughly pressing their foreheads together.

“Leave, Viking,” he said, moving away. “You have done enough.”

He turned and walked three steps before Michael said, his voice cracking, “I love you.”

Alex stopped, his back still turned to Michael. The Viking felt the slightest sliver of hope. “I love you so deeply it pains me. I love you so wildly I fear I cannot control it. I love you with everything I have, my archer. My beautiful, princely archer, _I love you_.”

When Alex finally turned to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes shone silver, not the same silver Michael had seen when they had first met – a bright moonlight filled with curiosity and the desire to protect – but a cold one, revealing nothing but betrayal and torture. The silver of a deadly arrow, worn down and seen too many battles to go on any longer, but can still kill you if released.

“You are a Viking,” Alex said. “You do not know what love is.”

“But… but you said I had changed. You yourself gave me that second chance!”

Alex looked away. “I suppose monsters don’t get second chances. You have certainly proven that much to the both of us.”

Alex had quickly gathered the potion bottles, herbs, and candles into their bag for the journey, and spent the rest of the time seated on the shore. He knew Michael was not in the forest, and he was glad for it. He heard footsteps, and did not need to look up to know who it was.

“He best still hope he truly is the favored,” he said, “for the next time I see him… I will kill him.”

“I shall hold him down,” Kyle said with a groan as he sat beside Alex, their knees pulled up to their chests.

“I will not need the help.”

“I know, but it will bring me much pleasure.” Alex attempted half a smile, but could not manage even that. “You have not said a word since the Viking left, hours ago.”

“Do you feel the need for conversation? Mirolet is lost. A centuries’-worth quest has come to an end. What would you like me to say?”

“You cannot give up,” Kyle pressed. “We have hit many walls in our journey together over the years, and have overcome them every time.”

“The savior is dead, Kyle.”

“Another wall. We overcome that, too.” Alex said nothing. “Are you… grieving… _him_ as well?” Alex did not answer. “Tell me, Your Majesty. I am curious, despite my best efforts not to be.”

“If he had ever truly been mine, I suppose I would grieve him,” he said. He supposed it should have pained him to make such a confession, but he was too consumed with thoughts of Mirolet, of his curse, of the cold on his skin and the miserable silence of the water, of the fear in Michael’s golden eyes and the words he had uttered. All that time, all those years – all for nothing. “It occurs to me now, however, that I had never had him to begin with. Really, nothing is lost.”

It was silent a moment, then Kyle asked, “What are you thinking?” He nudged Alex’s shoulder. “Come on, then, you always tell me.”

“Do you still wish to come with me?” Alex whispered.

Alex _felt_, rather than _saw_, Kyle’s eyes widen fractionally, his brows furrowing, his frown deepening. “Your Majesty, I…” He shook his head. “_Never _doubt that. I will be by your side until the day I die.”

_Until the day you die._ But not Alex. Alex would stay alive, and watch as those around him, as his greatest friend, grew old and left this life. He would watch, unable to do more while Mirolet and all its people remained frozen in the shadows for eternity. It turned out, and Alex had not realized this until he met Kyle, that the only thing that terrified him more than the curse finally broken, was living forever.

“Good,” he said, his eyes burning and his vision turning blurry. He felt hot tears streaming his face, and when he repeated, “That’s good,” his voice cracked.

“There’s still hope, Sire, Mirolet will still be saved,” Kyle said, even as Alex’s head fell onto his knees, his entire body trembling as he sobbed. Kyle put a hand on Alex’s shoulder, strong and warm. ”You _will_ be cured. You’ll see.”

It was around sunset that Kyle found himself wandering the woods, his dagger tucked into its sheath. He had told Alex he would fetch something for their journey in the morning, but he also wanted a moment alone to think.

The Viking had been responsible for the destruction of everything he and Alex had worked towards, had killed the one woman destined to save Mirolet. And all Kyle could think of was _him_.

Kyle had recognized that expression, that misery in Michael’s eyes. It was the same one he had seen in Alex before he had confessed to Kyle the crimes of his past. Michael had been afraid, not for his safety, but of _losing_ the person he cared for most. Kyle’s hands turned to tight fists.

He was deep into the forest when he heard a sudden and strange hissing echoing through the rustling leaves, unlike any animal Kyle had ever heard. He shivered at the chill in his bones, and as the shadows gathered over the thin stream that ran across the forest ground to form a figure, Kyle unsheathed his dagger and pointed the tip at the stranger.

It was Flint. And he was angry.

“The Viking,” Flint spoke, his voice raspy with displeasure, “why is he still alive?”

Kyle did not lower the dagger. “I said I would kill him, did I not? I need time.”

“_Time_,” he hissed, his black eyes narrowed at him. “Father grows impatient, he does not care which of the two dies so long as the bond between them is broken.”

And _this_, this question that had been flooding Kyle’s mind since Michael had told them the truth, returned once more. Without lowering his arm, Kyle said, “The Viking has already killed the savior, the hope for Mirolet is gone. Why bother killing him now?”

“Fool! Do not question my father’s commands, or he will unleash his wrath upon you.” He stepped closer to Kyle, and Kyle moved back. “If you do not kill the Viking _soon_, father will take it upon himself to kill Alex, or he will force _me_ to do it. If that happens, I will not be able to protect my brother. Either kill Michael, or the youngest prince’s blood will be on _your_ hands.”

With a _whoosh_, Alex’s brother disappeared in a whirl of wind. Kyle remained staring at the spot where he had stepped out of the water. It was burned.

Michael’s eyes were closed, engulfed in silence as he floated along, the chill of the water soaking his clothing, his hair. Yet he could not feel the cold. He wondered why.

His eyes fluttered open. The sun was setting, the sky a mixture of violet and gold, dotted here and there with white clouds, the world oblivious to the storm in his mind. Alex was leaving. By dawn, he would disappear from Michael’s life. And there was nothing Michael could do to stop it.

“Michael? MICHAEL!”

Michael’s arms were suddenly grabbed and he was pulled out of the water. He did not fight against the man as he dragged him onto the shore.

“Have you gone mad?!” Max growled. “You could have frozen to death!”

Michael was vaguely aware of his brother crouching beside him, his hand on his shoulder, but he could not feel it.

“What were you even doing in the water?” he demanded as he took off his own wool coat and draped it over Michael’s shoulders, rubbing his arms to keep him warm.

“I’ve lost him,” Michael muttered, barely over a whisper, too quiet for anyone to hear. But his brother’s brows furrowed.

“What?”

“He hates me. He… hates me, Max.”

“Michael, hold on,” Max gripped his shoulders. “You are not making any sense, brother.”

Michael shook his head. “Tomorrow. I will tell you tomorrow.” _For tomorrow, Alex will be gone. Tomorrow, I will not have to fear for his safety._

“No, you will tell me now,” Max commanded. “Here I thought you were forming an unhealthy obsession with mead –”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“—but another demon is clearly at work,” he finished with a huff and stood at Michael’s side, his dark, focused eyes on his brother. “The darkness around the well is gone. Might I presume _you_ had something to do with this?”

Michael glanced him. “Why make such an assumption?”

“Come now, brother. No one worries for the village as you do, despite your inexplicable desire to hide it. Now the poison is gone as if it were never there, and here I find you, the next day, attempting to drown yourself in the lake!”

“I was not attempting to drown myself,” Michael said. “I needed silence.”

“Then bury yourself under your covers,” he responded through grit teeth.

“To think.”

“To _think_. Dear me.” Michael said nothing, and Max sighed. “All right, you are not hitting me or attempting to kill me with your eyes. This must be serious, then.”

Michael mindlessly ran his fingers through the pebbles, taking pleasure in the way they cut his skin. Perhaps it was because of his strength, because he was so rarely hurt, that he felt a small satisfaction at having his hands cut and scraped. Incredible how exceptional Alex had always been, for he had hurt Michael with nothing but his eyes the moment they had met.

“Michael,” Max said, his voice softer. “What ails you?”

Michael’s fingers dug deeper into the rough sand. “Brother. I have always taken pride in what I am, in what we do. Every voyage feels like a quest decided by the gods, every breeze a wish of good fortune by the lords of the skies themselves.”

“I am happy for you,” he said as he tossed his fishing nets in the water as if his brother had not just been floating in it a moment ago.

“We return from our journeys, and I am full of joy and gratitude at the strength granted to me by Thor, to the stealth by Loki, to the wisdom in battle by Odin.”

Max straightened with a huff. “Is there a point to this? Or are you just boasting?”

“What if we stopped?” Max stilled, his eyes on his brother as if he could not understand what he was saying. “All of it.”

“Stopped,” Max repeated as he tied the end of the net to a wooden post in the ground. “Odd,” he said calmly. “I expected to hear this question from Elias, perhaps even Maria. Never you.”

“Am I truly so much a monster than you cannot fathom me questioning it all?”

“A _monster_ – Michael, is that what you think we are? Monsters?”

Michael watched as the net floated in the water, waiting for the fish to gather. He wondered if that was how Alex saw him; a net meant to mercilessly ensnare the lives around him.

“I am a Viking,” he said, though he could not help but be reminded of Alex’s glare as he said the word. “I am of the favored.”

“Well, don’t say it like _that_.”

“Like how?”

“As if you do not believe it.”

“I do,” Michael said. “I do believe it, and I… also do not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if I were someone my archer were not so ashamed of? Would I be happier? Would I still be valued by the gods?”

“_ ‘My archer?’_” Max’s frown deepened. “This is the man, I presume, who you were drowning yourself for?”

“I told you, I was not –”

“And who is this archer you fancy so?” Max demanded. “Who is this man that makes you question your entire way of life?”

“_Do_ you ever think of those we have slain? Because I do not,” he said. “I have never considered them. What good do you think that does us?”

“What good would it do? It is life, Michael, people die and people live.”

“And we make those decisions?” Max did not respond. “Are you angry with me?”

Max shook his head. “I am but _confused_, my dear brother! Where is all of this coming from? No one is prouder to be a Viking than you, I – you’re _ashamed_ now? When did these conflicts begin?”

Michael shook his head, but Max turned his body to him, his eyes boring into him. “_When_, Michael?”

Michael swallowed. “When I met the man I love, and I saw hatred in his eyes.”

“Yes, I understood to that capacity, but _who is he_?”

“Does it matter?” he snapped. “He loathes me.”

Max was silent for a long moment, then, “Because you had killed someone?”

“Because I had killed someone,” Michael said, and the brothers fell into a quietness during which Michael could hear both of their minds racing. Max’s with concern and questions, and Michael’s with Alex’s anger and his guilt.

“I do not know what to say, my brother,” Max said. “You ask a difficult question – what would happen if we stopped? I haven’t the faintest clue. It is our way of life, it is the only way we have ever known. It was what we believe.”

“What we believe,” Michael muttered. Not what _I_ believe, what _we_ believe. Michael had believed it so strongly, once upon a time… then he met Alex, and the prince showed him what true nobility and _goodness_ is. Michael turned to dust in comparison to the heroic prince, the one who faced the darkest of monsters and kept so much love and kindness in his heart.

For a moment, just a moment, Michael had dared believe that Alex might have loved him, or would someday. Now, he felt it impossible. But was it? Despite it all, he still felt Alex’s body against his, his warmth, his lips, and Michael retained the smallest hope that maybe not all was lost.

“We are the favored,” Michael said, “yet we have killed saviors. How can the gods be pleased with us for that?”

Max’s frown deepened. “Saviors. Archers. Now you doubt our voyages.”

“And if I do?” Michael asked, unable to look his brother in the eye. “If I feel guilt –”

“_Guilt_? All right, hang on,” he stood, crouched by the lake, and splashed a handful of cold water in his face. He sniffed and sat again at Michael’s side. “All right,” he repeated. “Are you – do you speak honestly now? Do you feel… guilt?”

Michael thought about this, then, “Once.”

“Because it hurt – er – your archer?”

Michael nodded. “He has hated me since the beginning for the way I live, and I regret the murder that cost him everything, I regret anything that makes him look at me with such coldness in his eyes. Max… I cannot change the way I have lived or what I believe. I have lived it too long.”

His eyes fell shut as he confessed in a broken whisper, “But I would stop today if he wanted me to. I would do anything he asked of me. If he would just forgive me.”

After a long moment, Max sighed and rested a hand in Michael’s curls, as he had done when they were children and Michael was crying. Max would put his hand on his brother’s head because he knew the Viking was prideful, even when he was younger, and did not want to be shown being given any pity.

“Do you remember when you asked me what would be left of you if you were not just a Viking? If you were not just your strength?”

Michael nodded with a slight frown. “You said _I_ would be left. I confess, I did not understand it.”

“You, Michael, are a man. A man with heart, and courage, and evidently more love than you seem to know what to do with. I have never known you to love anyone so, brother,” Max finally said. “Do what you must to keep him.”

“But,” Michael shook his head, “the – the village. The voyages.”

“_You_ are my family, Michael,” he said. “Not the treasures. Not the voyages. Go to him.”

“He will never see me.”

“And you accept this? My,” and at this, Max’s lips curled in the smallest of smirks, “I cannot imagine that would satisfy the Viking in you, _or_ the man.”

Michael looked at his brother, and felt a small smile tugging at the corner of his own lips. _I love Alex_, he thought. _I want to see him. When has anything stopped me from seeing him before?_ Michael’s hands tightened to fists, and he forced himself up.

“You are right, brother,” he said, resolved. “I will not lose him without a fight.”

“What wisdom!” Max stood, and clapped Michael’s shoulder. “Very out of character, and eight-and-twenty years too late, but we’ve finally arrived! A fight it is, and a good thing, too, for you so rarely lose.”

Michael was about to say that Alex was his one exception, that the archer _had_ in fact defeated him once, and that it had probably been in that moment, when Alex had pointed his silver arrow over Michael’s heart, that Michael knew he had fallen so desperately in love with the man. He would have told Max all of this if a faceless voice did not interrupt.

_“You will never go near my brother again,”_ the voice said.

Max frowned as he and Michael looked around for the source. “Who was that?”

_“Your journey with the prince has come to an end, Viking.”_

Max was only beginning to mouth the word _‘Prince?’_ with a furrow in his brows, when he seemed to abandon the thought and angrily waved a hand. “Where are you, stranger?” he demanded. “Show yourself!”

But something in Michael had already known who it was, for he had already faced one of Alex’s brothers before. From the lake water, the shadows gathered to form a figure. This was a brother Michael had yet to see.

“You,” he pointed at the miserable, angry-looking man. “I know you. You are one of Alex’s older brothers.”

“_Odin’s Eye_, Michael,” Max paled, having pulled out his sword just as Michael had pulled out his. “You _know_ this creature?”

Michael held the sword up to point at the man, ignoring his brother’s question. “Why do you appear now?”

“My name is Flint, and it is as you say, I am Alex’s older brother. You and Alex are destined to find the savior, you see, and restore Mirolet,” the creature hissed, his arm already forming a long spike, deadly with its sharp point. “Father wants one of you dead to prevent it. He had allowed me to kill _you_ instead of attack Alex again.”

Michael frowned. “We – but – _no_, the savior is dead. _I _killed her. What point is there in killing either of us? Does your _demon_ king not know that?”

“_Fool_,” the brother spat. “You think you can feign ignorance with _me_? I know the savior is here, in this pitiful village!”

“_You_ are the fool if you think she’s _here_!” Michael could not help but respond, and the creature looked momentarily startled at his exclamation.

“_She_?” Flint huffed incredulously, staring at Michael as if he honestly could not tell whether the man was lying or not. “Perhaps there really is no point to your death. Regardless,” he held up his arms, his face and body melting away to a creature of shadows. “Either _you_ die, or Alex will. And I will not harm Alex again.”

“I do not know what this business between you two is,” Max said darkly, moving to partly guard Michael from Flint’s view, “but you will not touch my brother, _demon_.”

“Your brother _must _die, Viking,” Flint said quietly, turning to Max as if only now noticing that he was there, “so that my brother can live.” And he lunged.

Max put one foot back and swung his sword as hard as he could, and the creature easily dodged him, striking towards Michael who already had his sword ready. He sliced an arc through the air, and felt the sword go through Flint easily without hurting him at all. The creature struck, but at the last moment, Michael managed to turned the blade of his sword so that Flint’s spiked arm hit it and sent Michael flying backwards.

He hit a tree, and staggered to his feet. _What in Thor’s name…? _Why hadn’t the sword hit him? Michael remembered when he had fought Clay; the sword had injured him without even really touching him sometimes. It had taken a long time to kill him, but he had managed it. His weapon seemed to barely touch Flint now.

“MICHAEL!” Max called, and ran to his brother’s aid, but Flint used a spiked arm to shove him roughly aside and knock him to the ground. _He’s trying not to kill him_, Michael realized. Flint did not want to kill who he did not have to, and for now, he only had to kill Michael. Michael held his sword up. He did not think the creature’s gentility with Max would last much longer.

As Max was beginning to stand, Flint ran at Michael again, his feet burning holes in the ground, leaving the grass, frost and sand black in his path. Michael held the blade against him again as Flint struck, his arm leaving sparks as it collided with the steel. Michael moved his blade quickly, avoiding every single one of the creature’s hits, but he was tiring quickly. Flint was like Alex in the way he fought; as quick and as restless as the wind, and as powerful as a storm in his strikes.

He thought of Alex, his beautiful archer. His hair falling over his eyes as he shot arrow after arrow, the silver dancing across the brown as he aimed, the snow crowning him as if even nature wanted Alex to rule it. Alex’s rosy cheeks, his bright smile, his warm laughter. His father wanted to end all of that. He wanted to see his son fall, full of despair. Michael’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened.

He had caused Alex’s misery, he knew it. But he would do anything to fix that, he would do anything for Alex to love him, even if it killed him. The shadow king would have to fall, and no matter what, Michael was resolved to help make that a reality. For Alex.

In that moment, Max suddenly appeared behind the creature, his sword raised. He swung, and to Michael’s surprise, the sword seemed to injure Flint as it sailed through his shoulder. Flint shrieked, and as he turned to Max, Michael swung his own sword. It sailed through Flint’s arm, and this time, Michael felt the vibration against his weapon as the creature’s arm fell to the ground.

Flint violently pushed Max back as he shrieked louder, and brought down his other arm toward Michael’s heart. Michael managed to move away just slightly so that Flint’s spiked arm when through his shoulder. Michael screamed as he felt ice so cold it burned surge throughout his body in an instant. Max called for him, but he seemed to have been thrown against a large boulder, for there was blood streaming from his forehead down to his chin and he was struggling to stand.

“M—Max,” Michael tried to move towards him, but the ice turned his muscles to fire, his bones to lead, and Michael fell to his knees. _Poison_, he thought, just as Alex had been poisoned. He reached out for his brother whose wide, angry eyes were on Flint, looming over Michael. Flint reached an arm back to deliver his final blow, and he suddenly shuddered violently as the tip of a dagger protruded from his chest.

He looked down at the point of the weapon, as if hazed, and the dagger was sliced upward. Flint shrieked as his entire body seemed to burn away and dissolve into shadows and ash. Before he vanished completely, Michael saw his shadow-self dissolve, showing Flint as a man. He was silent, the corner of his lips turned upward into almost a peaceful smile before his dark eyes – eyes like Alex’s – closed, and he disappeared.

Behind him, with his dagger in hand, looking down at Michael with dark eyes, was Kyle. Then the darkness came.

_“Fool! Do not question my father’s commands, or he will unleash his wrath upon you.” He stepped closer to Kyle, and Kyle moved back. “If you do not kill the Viking soon, father will take it upon himself to kill Alex, or he will force me to do it. If that happens, I will not be able to protect my brother. Either kill Michael, or the youngest prince’s blood will be on your hands.”_

_With a _whoosh_, Alex’s brother disappeared in a whirl of wind. Kyle remained staring at the spot where he had stepped out of the water. It was burned._

_Kyle rushed back to the shore where Alex was still seated, staring out at the water. With a rising panic in his chest, Kyle realized the shadows beneath the water’s surface were turning darker and darker. His hands turned to fists at his side as he tried to hide his distress. He stopped at Alex’s side._

_ “Sire,” he said, careful to keep his voice steady. “Come along, you must rest.”_

_Alex numbly followed as Kyle guided him up by the arm and led him to the cottage. Once inside, Kyle locked the door and let the curtains fall on the windows. He checked to make certain that they were not in view of any water._

_Alex watched him with the slightest furrow of his brows, as if confused but not daring to ask what Kyle was doing. Kyle turned to him finally, took a deep breath, and said, “While I know the timing is poor, there is something I have been meaning to tell you.”_

_Alex listened without expression as Kyle told him about his father’s visit and the ideas he had encouraged in Kyle. At the end of it, the archer said nothing, and Kyle, in a panic, said, “I swear to you, I had wanted to tell you the moment he had come, but I did not dare, for I feared he may be listening. Alex… will you say nothing? Are you terribly disappointed in me?”_

_But Alex’s shoulders, to Kyle’s surprise, sagged with relief, his expression softening into the smallest, and most genuine smile, Kyle had seen all day._

_“You knew,” Kyle realized._

_“I did,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes. “I felt him, his presence. I had not felt it in a long time. I knew he was here, and by the time I reached you, he was gone, and you looked as if you had spoken to a ghost. I fit the pieces together easily enough.”_

_“And you never confronted me with it?”_

_“I had hoped you would come to me with the truth yourself,” he confessed. “I should say, I _knew_ you would. There was no need to confront you.”_

_Kyle’s eyes burned, and with a deep sigh, he sat on Alex’s bed, beside him. “You should not have had so much faith in me. His words were like an enchantment, convincing me it was best for the Viking to die.”_

_Alex’s brows furrowed. “What kept them from taking hold?”_

_Kyle looked up and caught his gaze. He whispered, “You. When I felt the words beginning to control me, I kept hold of the image of you. Your smile, your strength, your wisdom. It kept me sane. Odd, considering I have so often convinced myself that if I ever went mad, it would be because of you.” _

_Alex said nothing for a moment, then, “Go on, then. Say it.”_

_ “Say what?” Kyle asked, pretending not to know._

_ “What you have longed to say since I could not return your feelings.”_

_Kyle nodded, if only to himself, then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “If you had only looked at my confession with _kindness_. If only you had acknowledged it as true… But no. You claim I do not love you, you talk down to me as if I am still a child – how could you think so?”_

_ “Tell me you were not disappointed by the secret I had told you,” Alex said. “Tell me your feelings have not changed in the slightest since learning of my past.”_

_ “I…” Kyle shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. “Don’t do that,” he demanded, “don’t test me as if I had not already earned your trust long ago.”_

_ “I say this with no fear that you have broken my trust,” Alex said wearily, as if this was obvious. “I say it with a fear that _I_ have broken _yours_.” Kyle stared. “You talked as if I was a hero, and all the time, you were mine. A pure heart, never broken or darkened. That was you, Kyle, never me, and I knew I would disappoint you, so when you confessed… I feared it.”_

_Kyle said nothing for a moment, staring at Alex. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, his eyes slightly out of focus as if he was thinking through a million things at once, which, Kyle realized, he always was._

_“I do love you. What you told me, it didn’t… it didn’t _disappoint_ me in you, Alex, nothing could. But I don’t think I ever really knew you. I saw only the good, and I left you alone to live with the bad.” He shook his head, his jaw tight, a tear falling down his cheek. “You _stupid_ prince, why didn’t you tell me? All those years, suffering alone?”_

_ Alex huffed, and for the first time in his life, Kyle saw Alex was afraid. He wondered how long the prince had shouldered his fear on his own. “I was alone only until I met you. You were all I needed.”_

_ Kyle scoffed, wiping the tear from his cheek. “And now you need him as well then?”_

_Alex shook his head. “After all he has done –”_

_“You will forgive him,” Kyle interrupted, unable and unwilling to hear Alex lie to himself again. “It is who you are, you cannot help it.”_

_“I will not,” Alex said determinedly. “He has destroyed everything.”_

_“Which may have put you off,” Kyle sighed, and begrudgingly added, “if you were not so in love with him. Really?” he added before Alex could argue. “He smells funny.”_

_ “He does not smell funny,” Alex argued, seemingly despite himself. Kyle could not help the upward tilt of his own lips._

_ “He does,” Kyle said. “And I will never like him.”_

That was the conversation Kyle and Alex had had only a mere few hours ago, then they had agreed it was best to keep an eye on Michael and make certain he was not to be attacked. Neither of them had expected Flint to come so quickly, but Alex held onto his bow and arrows before he ran to the village while Kyle surveyed the forests, both of them looking for the Viking. Kyle realized now that Alex’s father must have been listening regardless of the water.

Kyle had muttered curses about the idiotic Viking and where he could be as he searched, then he heard a man screaming the Viking’s name, and he ran in the direction of the voices. Really, for Kyle to find and end up saving him had to have been some joke by the gods, and for _Kyle_ to be the one helping the Viking to his feet, urging his brother to help him carry the stupid oaf, could have been nothing less than a cosmic punishment for having considered killing the man destined to help restore Mirolet at all.

“Hurry, quickly!” he demanded, and Michael’s brother – he assumed, for the man had kept calling him as such – got to his feet with his eyes on Michael, glancing at Kyle as if trying to recognize him. “Time for introductions has passed,” he grit out. “Help me carry him!”

“Michael,” the man breathed, and with one swoop, was carrying his brother on his back. “What has happened to him?”

“He has been poisoned,” Kyle said, keeping a tight hold of his dagger in case Alex’s father decided to make an appearance. “He is dying as we speak.”

Max’s eyes widened. “Then there is no time to waste, I must take him to the village –”

“This is not any regular poison,” Kyle said angrily as he began leading the way toward the forest. “It was caused by magic, and must be burned away by it. Come along,” and before the brother could argue, Kyle commanded, “_now_!”

The man, hesitantly looking in the direction of the village, followed Kyle quickly as if he were not carrying his heavily clothed brother on his back.

Kyle walked quickly, hoping that the barrier would allow him inside with the two Vikings behind him. To his relief, the trees opened as they always did, and in no time at all, the three were on the frosted shore leading up to the cottage, the Flowers of Frost planted firmly on the outskirts, keeping the place a secret from everyone else.

The Viking man stopped abruptly, his eyes wide on the cottage. “What is this? There is no such cottage on these grounds!”

But Kyle, not listening, called out for his prince. “Sire! I’ve found him! SIRE!”

“You are trespassers,” the brother breathed, his eyes on Kyle. “You dare enter these lands without –”

“How about you condemn us to death _after_ we’ve saved your brother?” Kyle growled. Michael was turning an alarming shade of white. “ALEX, WHERE ARE –”

“Where is he?” Alex burst through the opening in the trees suddenly, and spotted Michael. With the speed of lightning, Alex was at the brother’s side, his hand on Michael’s cheek. “He has turned to ice.”

The Viking man, startled at Alex’s speed, stepped back, holding Michael tightly still. “How did you –” he cut himself off as his eyes fell to the bow and arrows slung over Alex’s back. “_You_,” he whispered. “You are the archer, the one Michael…”

Alex did not ask what the man meant, only moved the bow off his back and told Kyle to fetch a number of medicinal herbs and potions from the cottage. Kyle nodded once, the last thing he saw Alex guiding Max to lay Michael on the ground near the fire, before he ran off.

“You are the archer, are you not?” the man said, but Alex could only stare at Michael, helping to lay him down on a soft patch of grass. The fire warmed Alex’s arms as he peeled back Michael’s wool. His lips were turning blue, the circles around his eyes a deep purple. The sun set on them, bathing them in gold. Michael’s curls shined like an ocean surface.

“You are the one my brother loves,” the Viking said, and Alex’s hands stilled momentarily over Michael’s chest.

_I love you._ Alex had not thought of those words since Michael had said them. He’d turned them over in his mind, barely scratching their surface for fear that the depths of them would kill him, agonize him over a reality that could not exist. For Michael was a Viking, and he had killed the savior. And still, _still_, Kyle had been right. _Still_, despite himself and what he wanted, Alex loved him. He loved Michael more than he knew how to breathe. And he would not die now.

“Come on, you idiot,” Alex muttered, pressing his hands against Michael’s chest. “Wake up for me.”

Alex focused only a bit of his magic on Michael’s body without the mixture required, willing the beat of his heart to strengthen.

“What is your name? How do you know Michael?” he demanded. “I am Max of the Vikings. I am the chief of this land, and I command you answer me.”

“Alex,” he said, hoping the distraction would ease the racing of his own heart, calming it from its incessant hammering against his ribs. “My name is Alex. Michael has told you of me, I see.”

“He has been hiding your presence here,” Michael’s brother said, more bewildered than anything else. “He would never hide the whereabouts of trespassers.”

“We had a mission to accomplish,” Alex explained as Kyle came out. He fell to his knees beside Alex with the potions and herbs. Immediately, the two of them set to work. Alex kept talking in favor of the rush of the morbid thoughts in his mind. “My kingdom is in danger, and we have worked to save it.”

“You are a _prince_?” Max shook his head. “And you – you use _magic_?!” Kyle dug his fingers into the mixture of herbs and reached for the wound on Michael’s shoulder. Max grabbed his wrist suddenly. “You will _not_ touch my brother with magic –”

Alex suddenly saw red and, without thinking, he grabbed Max’s wrist tightly. “Do not touch him. If you want your brother to live, magic is the only way.”

Max stared. “You are a sorcerer as well. Michael has been protecting a trespasser and a _sorcerer_?”

As he asked, he released Kyle’s wrist, and Alex let go of his. Kyle smeared the mixture on Michael’s shoulder, and Alex pressed down on it, rubbing it into the wound. Michael winced and began to shiver. “Hold him still!” he commanded, and Max, startled, held onto his brother’s waist and arms as Kyle held down his shoulders.

Alex shut his eyes tight, muttering the words he had muttered so often. He let the words pass through his mind, filling him with darkness. He searched through the empty void for his Michael, for the warm light that always overcame him. He could not find it no matter how far he looked.

Michael shook violently, even as the others held him down, and Alex began to feel beads of sweat on his forehead. It was no use; Alex was too consumed with the world around him, he was not using the full extent of his ability, and Michael was so near death he could feel it in his bones.

Alex had to let go. His physician had always warned him not to be absorbed by the enchantment or the magic would consume him. He could not heed her advice now. To save Michael, he would have to push himself further than ever before.

Alex allowed himself to slip into the words. He spoke them in another language, Latin, and yet he could always hear them so clearly in his own language. He could hear himself calling for the strength of the gods, of the angels, of the elves and fairies which resided in hidden groves and valleys, of nymphs who lodged in the trees and refused to show themselves to humans. He could hear himself asking – no, _begging_ – for the power to fight the lord of the dead, Hades, and bring his Viking back to the mortal realm. His business here was not finished, and he was much too wanted to leave.

Alex lost sight and feeling of the outside world, of Kyle’s voice and Max’s reassurances to his brother, and even Michael. Even Michael’s body beneath his fingers vanished. But Alex held on. He pleaded for the strength, the _power_ he had never asked for before and needed so desperately now. There were tears on his face, or perhaps blood, before those vanished as well. His body turned as hot as fire before everything went numb. He thought someone was shaking him, but he could not be certain.

_Come back to me, my love. You must wake so that I can tell you how deeply I love you, how I had forgiven you the moment I had turned away, how you had had a place in my heart the moment I had seen you. You had always been mine, and I had always been yours, and I cannot go on now without you. You must wake, my love. You must._

And there it was. Alex spotted it amidst the darkness. A small, bright light. Like moonlight. He reached for it, every fiber in his body urging him to stop or he might die. It did not matter. All that mattered was Michael.

“Wake up,” Alex thought he could hear himself whisper as he reached for that light. He was almost there now. Almost… there…. “Wake up, wake up, _wake up_.”

Alex heard a sudden intake of breath, the rise of a chest beneath his fingers, and he fell.

_Michael woke to a soft breeze. For a moment, he expected to find himself in the fields of Mirolet, but he saw tree branches against the sky, and he sat up to find that he was in a clearing in the forest._

_ “Familiar?” a voice said, and Michael looked up. On one of the branches sat a woman he had never seen before. She wore familiar robes of white and blue, her hair was long and dark and curled down her back. She smiled at Michael as if she had known him her entire life._

_ Michael could not help but look away at the intensity of her gaze. This was the place, he realized, where he had had his first battle with Alex, and lost to him._

_ “I had hoped bringing you to the place where you had fallen in love with the prince would awaken some strength in you. My nephew is very bewitching, is he not?”_

_ “Y-your nephew?” Michael blinked, and started up. “You,” he said, “you’re the physician. You are the woman who taught Alex how to use his magic!”_

_ The woman’s smile widened. “That I am. My name is Michelle of Mirolet. And you are Michael of the Vikings. You are the man destined to help bring Mirolet out of the shadows.”_

_ Michael felt his heart fall painfully into his stomach. “I cannot be. I am the man who killed the savior. There is no hope for Mirolet now.”_

_ “There is always hope as long as you are willing to fight for it,” Michelle said. “Do you know why your sword could not harm Flint the first time?”_

_ “You saw?”_

_ “I watch when I can,” Michelle confessed. “Though, admittedly, I cannot often enough. You had given up hope, had you not? For the slightest moment, you had lost the will to fight. That is why your sword could not harm my nephew. But when you had regained that will, you were able to defeat him, were you not?”_

_ Michael swallowed hard. “I was thinking of Alex. He needs me, whether he believes it or not. _I_ know he needs me. At the very least, I need him.”_

_ “True love,” Michelle said softly, and pushed herself off the branch. She landed in front of Michael with her feet barely touching the ground, as if she was made of some kind of cloud. “I only hoped Alex might one day know what that felt like. It is a lonely life, immortality.”_

_ Michael looked down. “And I have doomed it to him forever.”_

_ “No, Michael,” she said. “You have not. The savior can still be found.”_

_ Michael looked up at that. “So it is true? What the shadow creature said? The savior is alive?”_

_ Michelle considered Michael a moment, and under her gaze, he felt strangely naked. He wanted to take a step back, but instead, he put up his chin defiantly. If there was any hope, any hope at all that Mirolet could still be saved…._

_ “Tell me,” he commanded._

_ “Yes. The savior is alive,” Michelle said with a twinkle in her eyes, similar to Alex’s. Michael could not help but think of Alex’s family, Alex’s _life_ once upon a time. How impossible and faraway that reality seemed. “The savior cannot be killed by mortal hands, Viking. Only by magic.”_

_ “That woman is alive then,” Michael said to himself, then louder, “I must go to those lands, and find her, then –”_

_ “The woman from Alex and Kyle’s enchantment is certainly dead, Viking,” Michelle said grimly. “She will be of no help to you now.”_

_ “Then how –” Michael started, but was cut off as the ground he was standing on rumbled and the trees shook. He and Michelle looked around as shadows began to consume the forest._

_ “He nears,” Michelle whispered, dread evident on her features as her brows furrowed and her frown turned deeper. She seemed to be glowing with a white and silver light amid the darkness. She took hold of Michael’s shoulders._

_ “Listen to me, Viking, we have not time,” she pleaded. “The king is coming. The destruction of you and Alex are only the beginning. Once he has your strength, and Alex’s magic, he will certainly turn the world to shadows. No one will be safe, _no one_ will survive. You _must_ stop him. You must survive. Do you understand?”_

_ “But the savior –”_

_ “Find the will to fight, use your _love_ as your weapon. The savior can only help once the king is destroyed. Never before, for you risk the savior’s destruction, and then Mirolet will truly be lost.”_

_ The ground rumbled harder, thunder shook the skies, and the shadows of the trees threatened to engulf them both. Michael gripped Michelle’s arms. She was cool to the touch. “Who is it? Who is the savior?”_

_ “Beware, Michael,” Michelle said, her voice already turning to an echo. “The savior is not –”_  
  


Michael woke with a start. He was in Kyle and Alex’s cottage, the place now as familiar to him as his own home. He turned his head slightly in the direction of the sunlight streaming through the windows, and found someone lying on a bed on the other side of the room. _Alex_.

He was asleep, and Kyle was cleaning something from his nose and ears; _blood_.

“Alex,” he breathed, and sat up only to feel a painful surge of heat in his shoulder stretching to his chest. He attempted to push past it, and before he knew it, _Max_ was at his side.

“Stay down, brother,” he said softly. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his hand trembled slightly as it held onto Michael’s arm. Max, who never feared anything, who _never_ trembled. “Stay down.”

Michael did not want to, but at the look in his brother’s eyes, he let himself be guided back down.

“The shadow demon,” Michael croaked, his throat like sand. “He attacked.”

“He is dead,” Kyle said tonelessly, his touch on Alex gentle. “All of Alex’s brothers, dead.”

“What has happened to him?” Michael asked. “Why is he asleep?”

“You have _both_ been asleep, Michael,” Max said, his eyes on his brother. “For two days. The…” he shook his head, “the archer has yet to wake.”

“_Two days_?” Michael’s eyes widened.

“Alex used magic to save you,” Kyle said. “You would have died otherwise, but he is not supposed to use the full extent of his power, not while he is still cursed. I attempted to stop him, but it was too late. He saved you, and has been asleep since.”

Michael’s hands shook. “He… he is all right, yes? He will wake, _yes_?”

Kyle’s jaw visibly clenched, the hunter finished cleaning Alex’s face only for more blood to leak from the corner of his lips. “He only needs rest.”

“In the meantime,” Max said gravely, looking up at Alex, “you have a lot to explain.”

With a glance at Kyle who, to Michael’s surprise, nodded once to the Viking as if to say it was all right if he spoke of all he knew, Michael told Max everything Alex had told him. All the while, his gaze went back and forth between Alex’s sleeping face and Max’s expression. Kyle was silent all the while, cleaning blood from Alex’s lips, ears, and nose whenever it leaked out. It was only when Alex had stopped bleeding did Michael feel able to breathe at all.

Max had listened as Michael expected. He stared ahead, silently encouraging his brother to go on with a nod when he felt himself choke on the words, his frown deepening only slightly when he had discovered Michael had faced another of those shadow creatures in the forest and killed him, and deeper still when he discovered Alex was the one who had rid the well of the darkness using magic.

“His _father_ did this?” Max said when Michael had finished. “The curse, the kingdom, the darkness in our village – all the doings of one man?”

“King Jesse is not a man,” Kyle spoke for the first time since Michael had started recounting everything. He was watching Alex solemnly. “He is a _monster_. The power he has is dark magic he _stole_ from other sorcerers in Mirolet, dark magic that has only been strengthening over the past few centuries with the misery of the kingdom he has turned to shadows.”

“Why?” Max asked. “Why do this? His own son is a sorcerer –”

“All the more reason to despise him,” Kyle quietly said. “He hated magic, never accepting of the good it could do. It was evil, and anyone who had it was evil. To punish Alex, he felt, was to save him from a fate worse than death. To turn him into something he was not was a _gift_ he attempted to bestow on his son. And now, his son is cursed, so tell me, Viking.” He finally moved his eyes from Alex to look up at Max. “Are you going to kill us now?”

Max glared back, his arms crossed. _No_, Michael wanted to say. He would not hurt Alex now that he knew what the archer meant to Michael, would he?

“You say that your presence is the only thing defending the village?” Max said. “How can I trust that is true? That your presence is not, in fact, _causing_ the attacks?”

Kyle paused a moment, then, “I was told to kill you,” he gestured with his chin at Michael. “I almost did it, too. You know I would have wanted to.”

“I know,” Michael said, unable to help but glance at Alex. To his surprise, Kyle did not seem angry at him for watching the prince, nor did he seem to want to blame Michael for Alex’s present condition, though Michael could only blame himself. “Why didn’t you?”

“I have known the prince a long time, since I was a boy,” Kyle said quietly. “In all that time I have only ever seen him cry twice. Once, for his kingdom. And then again, two days ago, for you. To feel such pain is proof of a great love. How could I ever take that away from him?”

“But you _were_ considering it,” Max grumbled.

“Of course I was,” Kyle snapped. “Have you _met_ the man?”

Max sighed. “This all leaves me uneasy. To not have known about you –”

“Because of the barrier –”

“Yes, _that_, too,” Max growled. “Using magic on a land of Vikings. How can I accept such a thing?”

“Oh, sorry,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “Too dark for you? Shall we commence the slaughtering of some children to put your mind at peace?”

Max, unlike Michael, was not so easily upset, and did not react with a thundering voice, though his eyes in that moment could have summoned storms. “Mock all you want, hunter, but the fact remains that we had faced no such evil until you two arrived.”

“Do you not understand that without us here, without _Alex_ here, your land remains defenseless?”

“We are the greatest of warriors to ever –”

“Your swords and trinkets won’t work with the king,” Kyle argued, exasperated, one hand remaining on Alex’s chest as if afraid to move away from him. As if he was drawing on his prince’s strength. “He is of the darkest magic, you need light magic. You need the prince.”

Max looked like he wanted to argue, but Michael could not help but think of the woman in his dreams, of her warning to him.

“He is right, Max,” Michael said, and shook his head. “I have been having these dreams, _visions_ of Mirolet, of Alex. As I slept I had another, a woman with long dark hair and robes of blue and white. Her name was Michelle.”

Kyle frowned. “That is Alex’s mentor. She taught him everything he knows about his magic.”

Michael nodded. “She seemed to glow in the darkness, as if it could not touch her. She told me that Alex and I together are the key to saving Mirolet and the world, Max. If the king is not stopped, if either me or Alex dies before he does, then _everyone_ will…”

“Fall to shadow,” Max finished, his eyes wide. “Just like the kingdom.”

“Oh, Sire,” Kyle said quietly, touching Alex’s jaw with a touch as gentle as a feather’s. “How could we have known our quest would ever lead to this?”

Michael wanted to get angry at Kyle for touching Alex, but again, he found himself unable to muster up the energy at the look of fondness and love in Kyle’s eyes. He gasped when he remembered something else Michelle had told him.

“The savior is alive!” he said as he sat up, and clutched Max painfully as he doubled over. “Michelle, she – she told me that the savior could only be killed my magic. And that she was somewhere here, in the village.”

“The village?” Max shook his head. “We would have known if someone with magic lived amongst us.”

Kyle shook his head, though instead of seeming surprised, as Michael had expected from his news, the hunter only said, “The savior does not need to be someone with magic. Alex is the sorcerer, he has all the magic the kingdom would need.”

At Michael’s expression, Kyle sighed. “Nothing after your confession made any sense to me. I think even Alex realized all you’d done is made our quest _harder_,” he said with a pointed glare, and Michael had the good sense not to respond. “If the savior was dead, why did the king still want me to kill you? Why was Flint so desperate to get it done? Without the savior, there was no point to any of it, which led me to believe that the savior may still have been alive. I suspect his Highness did not need to be told this.”

_There is something else_, Michael thought, though he did not dare voice it for fear that it would be too nonsensical. Both Flint and Michelle had questioned his resolve that the savior was a woman. Why? Could the savior have been a man instead? But then, _who_? Or had Michael misunderstood them both?

Michael was jerked from his thoughts by a deep intake of breath. He looked across the room, and saw Alex’s eyes fluttering halfway open, the sunlight turning the small silver specs in his brown eyes to gold, his cheeks and lips red, and his lashes casting long shadows across his cheeks. He was beautiful.

“Alex,” Michael said at the same time Kyle breathed out, “Your Majesty.”

Alex looked up at Kyle, and for a dreadful moment, did not seem to know who he was or where the prince himself was. Then his expression softened, and he whispered, “Kyle. Where is Michael?”

“Here, my love,” Michael said before he could keep himself. “I am here. Max, help me stand.”

Alex’s gaze turned to Michael, and his shoulders seemed to sag with relief. Then he looked to Max, his expression unreadable. “You are Michael’s brother.”

“And you are his love, evidently,” Max said as he resigned to the fact that his brother would indeed not return to bed. He helped him to his feet, and Michael made his way towards Alex.

“Goodness,” Alex muttered tiredly, his eyes already fluttering shut once more. “Have you told everyone?”

Michael sat at Alex’s side, taking the archer’s hand in both of his and kissing it fiercely. “Anyone who would listen. Are you all right? Can you breathe properly? Are you in want of anything?”

“I could barely follow a word of that, Viking,” Alex said. “Give me a moment to regain my bearings. I did almost die, you see.”

“My love,” Michael whispered, kissing his hand again. “My beauty.”

“My breakfast,” Kyle muttered, looking as if he was torn between wanting to stab Michael’s heart, and be ill all over his coat.

Max, in all this time, stared at Alex. “You are the archer.”

“I am the archer,” Alex confirmed, and even from where he was lying, he held Max’s gaze with a steady one of his own. “And you, Max of the Vikings, are the chief of the village, and Michael’s brother.”

“That I am,” Max nodded once. “There is something I must ask you, and beware, I can spot a liar.”

“Max,” Michael looked over his shoulder at his brother, “stop it, can you not see he is tired –”

“Go on, then,” Alex said as some sort of silent conversation went on between him and Max, two leaders faced with the biggest threat to their people and land, wondering if they can find the answer they need in one another.

“Are you the only one that can defeat the shadow king?”

Alex watched him. “No,” he said. “I cannot defeat him alone. It must be me and Michael who fight against him, together.”

At this, Michael held Alex’s hand tighter. The archer did not look at him.

“How can you be certain?” Max asked, and there was a hint of distress there that could not have been spotted unless one had known Max as well as Michael did. He was desperate, Michael realized. Desperate to save the village and keep its people safe any way he could.

“What I did for Michael,” Alex said quietly, “it should have killed me. But my magic is stronger when we are together. If there is any hope that my father can be defeated, I will take it, but Michael must be at my side. Furthermore, I was told of it.”

“Let me guess,” Kyle said grimly with a glance at Michael. “In a dream?”

Alex looked around at all the faces before him. He sighed, and with a hand stretched out, he was helped up by Kyle into a seating position.

“I can see there has been quite the conversation here while I was away,” Alex said dryly and rubbed his face. “All right then. I assume you know our story, and why we are here. Let us get straight to it then, shall we? My father is coming. With my brothers…” Alex cleared his throat, “with my brothers dead, he is forced to take matters into his own hands, which is never good for anyone. I mostly knew him as a human, so what kind of power may he wield now? I haven’t a clue. But I know it will be of a dark magic. The only way to fight magic, Vikings, is to use magic.” He raised his chin defiantly, that fire Michael loved so returning to his eyes alongside something else when he glanced at Michael. “Any objections?”

“You make many demands for a trespassing sorcerer who should not be here,” Max noted, though Michael did not sense any venom or anger in his words, merely observation.

“I have one demand only, and as I am much older than you, Chief of the Vikings, by _centuries_, have more experience with magic than you do, and am at the end of my tether with this endless quest, I believe I am entitled to it.”

“And that would be?” Max asked with a raised brow, though whether he was insulted or astounded at Alex’s response, Michael did not know, for his brother did not show it.

“Let us work in peace,” Alex said. “If my father plans to come here, and the savior really is still alive, all I ask is that you let us do what we do best. Let me do what I can to stop him, and I will take the savior, and we will go –”

“_No_!” the three turned their eyes to Michael. Michael cleared his throat and stood, releasing Alex’s hand. “What I mean is, we must work together. You cannot fight him alone.”

“Would you be willing to fight him then?” Alex asked quietly, avoiding Michael’s gaze.

Michael frowned. “Alex…”

They spent only a short moment in silence before Max nudged his chin toward the door. “Hunter, come with me. If a battle is coming, we must prepare strategies. These two need rest.”

Alex’s and Kyle’s eyes flickered up to Max. “You believe us then?”

Max glanced at Michael. “I have seen the shadow creatures’ power. I do not wish to see their king’s strength unleashed. This is our fight, all of us.” He touched Michael’s shoulder. “Come out once you feel you are able. Try not to be long,” he said with a meaningful look at Michael that left the Viking unable to look at Alex. “This is a matter of life and death, after all.”

Michael was certain Kyle would argue Max, would angrily declare that he needed to stay with Alex, would stab Michael now while he had the chance, though Michael could already feel his strength returning. But the hunter touched Alex’s arm fondly, whispered some words in his ear, and when Alex nodded in response, Kyle moved off the bed without a look at Michael and stepped outside. Max stopped at the threshold behind him.

“Archer,” he said.

“Yes?”

“You nearly died saving a Viking, my brother. That is not something I take lightly. Make no mistake, I _will_ repay you for it.”

Alex looked like he wanted to argue, to perhaps decline the offer or say it was unnecessary, that he did not need the debt of a Viking, but he must have seen the same determination and fierceness in Max’s eyes that Michael saw for he sighed.

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose you will.”

Satisfied with the answer, Max stepped out, closing the door behind him, leaving Michael and Alex inside alone.

Alex tried not to stare at Michael, but as it always was, he could not help the racing of his heart at the sight of the Viking. The sun hit him from the windows now, bathing him in gold, everything from his hair to his eyes. He was fully clothed now, but Alex still remembered the warmth of his chest and shoulder as he had pressed his hands there, the magic flooding throughout his body as if it yearned to be shared with this beautiful man. A mixture of gold and rubies, and Alex found he wanted to reach out and touch him. He loved him. He loved him so desperately he thought he might die for it.

Regardless, his hands tightened to fists in his blanket as Michael hesitantly moved to take Kyle’s place beside Alex on the bed, then seemed to think better of it, and sat down at his side instead. He did not reach for Alex’s hand again.

“You could have died,” Michael said. “For me.”

“Yes, I could have,” Alex sighed. “As you can see, however, I am alive.”

“You should not have taken that chance.”

Alex looked at him. “I should have let you die?”

“You should not have risked yourself!” Michael said passionately. “I am not worth your life, Alex!”

Alex searched Michael’s eyes, the gold growing brighter. Did they glow like that for _Alex_? The archer blushed at the idea, and looked away.

“You are worth everything,” he said quietly, and when Michael did not answer, he added, “I wish I did not have to ask you for your help. I wish I did not need so much of you, but I do. Mirolet cannot be saved without you, and the world will die unless you fight.”

“You think I would have left you to fight on your own?” Michael asked, hurt coloring his voice. “You think I would _abandon_ you, my only love?”

Alex’s heart jumped at the ease with which Michael said those words. He wanted to hear Michael’s confession again, as he had felt deaf and blind to it all the first time, under such tragic circumstances. He wanted to pull Michael to him and kiss him senseless, though he knew he must control himself. As always.

“I am thinking rationally,” Alex said, and Michael quickly scoffed.

“Oh yes, you are always thinking _rationally_,” he said with no small amount of bitterness. “Tell me, does rationality never bore you? Are you not tired of thinking with your mind and never your heart?”

Alex straightened. “Does it not exhaust you to always think with your heart and never your mind?”

“The mind is blind to emotion, archer,” Michael said tightly.

“And the heart is blind to empathy,” Alex said. “Tell me, was it your _heart_ that told you to keep the truth from me? Was it your heart that feigned it a good idea to allow me hope where there was none?”

At this, Michael stilled. Alex silently cursed himself at the look of pain on the Viking’s face, but he pushed it aside. He had been hurt as well, and he could not pretend he was any less angry with Michael for the lie.

“The savior is still alive,” Michael quietly responded.

Alex did not look at him as he coldly said, “Yes, somewhere out there, she is. And yet, we have wasted our time waiting for someone who would never show. I have felt hopeful in a way I had not felt in _centuries_, and then I felt it burn away in an instant. You cannot imagine what that is like.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “No,” he said. “I cannot.” He shook his head. “But what I told you, how I _feel_ about you – does that mean nothing?”

“That means _the world_,” Alex snapped, his eyes burning. _Damn_, he thought. When was it that tears came so easily to him? “That is why it pains me so much now. You held onto me as you lied about the savior, you kissed me with lies on your tongue! How can I trust anything you say now? How can I trust you are sincere? That you love me as I…”

He trailed off, the words in his throat, pleading to be said, like water pushing against a dam.

Michael had frozen. “As you what?” When Alex did not respond, Michael sat on the bed beside the archer’s legs. “As you _what_, Alex?”

Alex looked up at Michael, his beautiful golden eyes piercing Alex’s very soul, and the prince could find no way to deny it, his true feelings. “As I love you.” He shook his head. “You must have known how I felt. And in that moment, when you said the words I never knew I longed to hear, I could not help but think that you were taking advantage of my feelings for you to gain forgiveness. I could not give it.”

At his last words, Alex raised his chin defiantly, his eyes meeting Michael’s, but the Viking’s eyes were flashing in gold, wide and watching Alex as if he had just witnessed a miracle he could never have expected.

Before Alex knew it, Michael’s hands were cupping his face, and their foreheads were pressed tightly together. It might have pained Alex had he been aware of anything but Michael’s warm skin, Michael’s hands on his jaw, Michael scent.

“I wish there were some way to prove to you that I would die today if it meant I would be granted your forgiveness. That I would fight a hundred – no, a _thousand_ – shadow demons if it meant you could trust me.” He huffed a laugh. “But I cannot help but be happy that you, my prince, love me, too. That you feel for me as I feel for you. If you can forgive me anything, forgive my selfishness, my beautiful, _wonderful_ archer, for I can only feel joy now.”

Alex’s heart climbed into his throat, and for a dreadful moment, he feared he may cry again. He brought his hands up to Michael’s waist, holding the Viking in place. Michael seemed startled a moment at the touch, but he quickly melted into it.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Alex, despite himself, made a small whimpering noise in the back of his throat. He hoped Michael would not hear it, but the Viking must have because he repeated the words, and Alex felt himself fall deeper still into the warmth between their bodies, the desperate desire to touch, to be _closer_.

Alex had been in pain when he had woken, his muscles still burning and his bones aching. But Michael was so gentle, Alex could only melt into every touch, every breath against his cheek and ear, every kiss to his lips, his jaw, his neck, his chest.

Their clothing soon lay on the floor and bed, the two pressed together under the heat of the blankets, their bodies damp. Alex touched whatever he could reach; Michael’s chest, his stomach, his back, his arse. Everything was a wonder to behold, every inch of golden skin a masterpiece he wanted to admire.

“_Michael_,” he breathed as Michael thrusted deeply into him.

Michael responded with Alex’s name on his lips, a breathy moan against Alex’s ear. If this was the last time either of them was to ever touch one another like this, if they died in battle today, then Alex wanted to commit it all to memory. He wanted to remember the press of Michael’s hands on his hips, chest, and stomach as if it had always belonged there. Alex thought it had.

He spread his legs wider, urging Michael in deeper. He bit his lower lip, trying to hide his moans as Michael’s thrusts turned rougher. Michael made no such effort and groaned loudly into Alex’s ear, holding onto his waist as if he would never be willing to let go.

They came together, panting into the space between their mouths before Michael crashed their lips together.

“All right then,” Alex said after a long moment, lying against Michael’s chest with the Viking’s arm around his waist. “We best go out.”

Michael groaned as he held onto Alex, and pulled him back down onto the bed, hovering above him and kissing his lips ferociously.

Alex wanted to keep kissing him, to forever run his hands through the Viking’s golden curls, to feel the Viking’s lips all over his body. But the time for merriment, as short as it had been, was over now. The quest was not yet over.

He held onto Michael’s face, kissed him once more firmly on the lips, and pulled himself up. Michael kept kissing his shoulder, or pulling him against chest as Alex attempted to dress quickly. By the end of it, Alex felt himself able to breathe better, his body no longer aching, and at the ease with which Michael moved, sneaking to Alex’s side to kiss his lips or touch his arms or press his nose to Alex’s hair and inhale his scent, he assumed Michael felt just as strengthened.

Alex was now certain that he and Michael coming together had some magical effect, though he could not imagine how. He reminded himself that, should they survive this battle, he ought to understand this power between them.

They walked out to an empty shore, and found Max and Kyle deep in the woods, having a deep conversation. They did not look up when Alex and Michael arrived.

“Why have you come all the way out here?”

“Because, _Viking_,” Kyle said with an edge in his voice, “you are as quiet as a wild boar. Honestly,” he looked to Alex, “what do you _see_ in him?”

Michael was wrong. He very much could hate the bastard. He was only deciding how he wanted to wring the man’s neck when Alex, his arms crossed, distractedly said, “He’s very pretty.”

Michael barely had the time to be stunned or flustered before Alex had turned to Max and was saying, “My father will not attack unless we have discovered where the savior is. He will not risk his own destruction until then.”

Max was nodding as if he and Alex could read one another’s minds. “And until then, he will continue in his spurts of chaos. Do you have any idea who the savior may be?”

“All we know for certain is that she is somewhere in the village.”

“She?”

Alex hesitated. “Yes, we – er – think it may be a woman.”

Michael caught Alex’s gaze. Could his prince have had the same dreams as he did? The same concerns? _What if the savior was _not _a woman, but a man? _Did they want to cross into that area of uncertainty? Could they bear it now with everything else?

“The savior is in the village,” Michael said firmly. “Let us start there. Man or woman, everyone must be looked into.”

Alex looked at Michael gratefully, and Michael felt a surge of pride in his chest.

Max clutched the hilt of his sword. “Then the sooner we begin, the better. Michael, you and I will go to the village. Liz, Isobel, and Maria must be informed.”

“Kyle and I will stay here and work on the enchantment,” Alex said, and Kyle crossed his arms behind his back, coming to stand beside his prince. “’Tis better that we do not accompany you, for the sight of strangers may alarm the villagers.”

“Agreed,” Max said. “If the village can be spared from the battle, I would prefer it. Come, brother.”

Michael moved to follow Max, and lightly caught Alex’s fingers as he walked past. He did not want to leave the archer, but there was work to be done, and just like Alex, Michael had people he wanted to save.

“Have you seen Elias?” Liz asked distractedly. Max and Michael had come into the cottage to find her searching under every table and in every room as if expecting her son to appear hiding. She even checked the contents of a jug to make sure the boy hadn’t snuck in there somehow. “I have been searching for him all after… what’s wrong?”

Max must have looked as grim as Michael felt at the prospect of having this conversation. Nevertheless, Michael set a hand on Max’s arm, and after a glance at his brother, Max took a deep breath and moved to take Liz’s hands.

“Darling, what’s happened?” Liz asked, concern leaking into her expression. “Michael? Won’t someone tell me?”

“Sit down, my love,” Max said tenderly, seating her near the fire. “This is quite a long story.”

Michael sat between Max and Liz as Max told her everything that had come to pass, from the shadow demon’s attack, to meeting Alex and Kyle in the forest, to the magic they used to keep themselves hidden. At times, Michael took over to explain how long he had known of the archer and hunter’s presence, to explain the story of Mirolet, of Alex and Kyle’s part in it all, of Michael and Alex’s connection to the enchantment, though he did not mention that lying together had an especially powerful effect.

Liz gasped throughout the story, asked a million questions that Michael could only partly answer, held her husband’s hands tighter, and after Max had finished telling her of the impending attack, she turned to Michael with wide eyes.

“_That_ was the mystery, wasn’t it? It was this Alex person. _He_ is the reason you have been acting so odd as of late.”

“I love him,” Michael said defiantly, without hesitation or question. “I would stand by him whether the world was at stake or not.”

“As it is, the world very much _is_ at stake,” Max sighed, rubbing his eyes. “This is a battle we _must_ fight, Liz.”

“This explains everything,” Liz said with a shake of her head. “The darkness at the well, Michael’s behavior, the cold that has been spreading and only growing in the land. It should have warmed ages ago. I suppose we all know why it hasn’t now.”

Michael watched as Liz thought through everything she had heard, her hands gripping Max’s as if only his touch could steady her, keep her connected to earth. Michael now understood how that felt, remembering Alex’s hands in his, how his voice and eyes and touch kept Michael sane through everything that had happened, how he had given Michael a light in the darkness of all his discoveries.

“I want to meet them,” Liz finally said. “This mystery archer and hunter. I want to see them for myself.”

Max nodded, as if what Liz had said was of the utmost importance. “Of course, you should. Michael and I will take you, but first, we must tell Isobel and Maria what we have –”

Max was suddenly cut off as the front door opened and Elias came in, his expression thoughtful and determined, his pendant – now dented, Michael realized – in his hands.

“Elias,” Liz breathed, and hurried to her son’s side. It seemed, after hearing what was out there, Liz had been more worried for Elias’s safety than anything else. “Where have you _been_?”

“With my friends,” Elias said. “We were… doing something.”

“Doing what?”

Elias fingered his pendant, and shook his head. “Something important. Papa?”

Max mustered the best, comforting smile he could manage. “Yes, my sweet?”

“The person who used to own this pendant,” Elias said, holding up his necklace. “D’you happen to know what their name was?”

“Their name?” Max blinked. “No, son, I cannot say I do.”

Elias, in that moment, looked so disappointed that Michael could not help but be reminded of someone. “Oh…. Seems a shame, not to know who it was. I bet it was important to them.”

Max frowned and he looked at Michael with a raised brow as if to say, _Have you been talking to him?_

Michael shrugged and shook his head. Could it have been that…. No, that could hardly be possible! When would they have ever met?

In that moment, Isobel came rushing in, and to all of their surprise, she had Maria leaning against her, barely able to stand.

“What on _earth_…” Michael started as he and Max rushed to Isobel’s side, helping to carry Maria. The woman’s eyes were half-open, her breaths shallow and quick, and her hair was pasted to her forehead and neck with sweat.

“What’s happened to Aunt Maria?!” Elias panicked, his eyes wide.

“She has been ill for weeks,” Isobel croaked, her eyes filled with tears, her hand on Maria’s back even as they seated her, as if she could not bear be apart from her for a moment. “She is only getting worse.”

Maria’s back arched as they set her down, and Isobel held her shoulders to keep her from falling off the bed. She was muttering something under breath, between pants, something that none of them could decipher.

“This is no ordinary fever,” Max said as he surveyed her. Michael’s eyes, however, were on the necklace. The flower inside was glowing brighter than he had ever seen any flower glow. Why was it doing that?

_Think, Michael. What could this mean?_ It was important, he knew it was, though he could not say how. Alex had said something about this necklace’s value, hadn’t he? Or did it mean nothing at all?

“What can we do?” Liz asked, taking Maria’s hand in hers and touching the back of her other hand to Maria’s cheek. “Her skin is like fire. If we do not help her –”

“The prince in the forest!” Elias suddenly exclaimed, and everyone looked to him. “He can help her! He can do anything!”

Michael stared. “Elias… what did you just…”

Maria screamed suddenly, the pulse in her neck visible and quickening. The flower glowed brighter and brighter.

“Father, trust me!” Elias said. “Prince Alex can help her!”

“Max!” Isobel cried. “What is he talking about? What prince?”

“My archer,” Michael responded gravely, and shared one look with Max before the matter was settled. With his brother’s help, Michael had Maria on his back in an instant, Isobel behind them to keep her trembling form from falling off.

“Elias is right,” Michael said, setting Maria properly on his back. “If anyone can help Maria now, it is Alex.”

And so they ran. Without explaining what was happening, where they were going, or how they were going to get there, Michael led the way to Alex, and the others followed, including Elias who, in their distress, no one remembered to warn away.

Michael remembered the last time he had guided the others through the forest, but if he was not alone, the barrier did not open for him. He hoped it would open now, that Alex would let him through. As he had hoped, the trees grew farther and farther apart, and the path opened for them.

“When did –”

“How –”

Isobel and Liz’s questions drowned away as Michael spotted Alex and Kyle on the shore, evidently waiting for them. Alex, of course, had heard them coming. Beside them was a circle of candles and crystals, potions and flowers Michael had never before seen.

“Elias?” Alex blinked at the boy. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help!” Elias said, and Michael, though wanting to, did not have time to ask.

Kyle was standing on the outskirts of the barrier. It seemed that he had let them in while Alex preoccupied himself with the enchantment. When Kyle saw Maria, he frowned. When Alex spotted her, however, his brows furrowed only slightly.

“_You_,” he breathed as Michael set her near the candles. “I know you.”

“You,” Maria returned feebly. “I… I s-saw you… in my d-dreams…”

“This is the boy you saw?” Isobel asked Maria quietly as she knelt beside her. She had been staring at Alex since they had seen the cottage. Liz was looking around, trying to take it all in, while Elias had gone to Alex’s side as if eager to assist him in any way possible.

“How had we not noticed any of this before?” Liz said. “How was there a path? There shouldn’t have been a path.”

“As I told you,” Michael said distractedly. “Magic. Alex, come look at this.”

“I see it,” he said. His hand hovered over Maria’s brow, though his eyes were also on her necklace. “A Flower of Frost. But how is that possible? How does _she_ have it?”

“Our last voyage,” Isobel sniffed, moving Maria’s hair back. “Michael took the necklace from a gypsy, and he gave it to me. I gave it to Maria.”

“A gypsy?” Alex’s frown deepened. “Her necklace…” he trailed off, his brows furrowed on something over Michael’s shoulder. Michael followed his gaze, and found Kyle, beside the Flower of Frost at the barrier, waving his arms frantically. He was calling to them, but over the sound of the waves growing and crashing, and the wind heavier as it rustled the leaves, it sounded as if Kyle was saying, _“Glowing! It’s glowing!”_

Michael narrowed his eyes and saw that he had heard correctly. The Flower at Kyle’s feet had grown more vibrant and was glowing purple and gold. He turned to Alex with wide eyes, but Alex had already gone to check the other Flowers.

“What’s he doing? Where’s he going?” Isobel asked.

“The flowers,” Max muttered, his brows furrowed. “They are all connected somehow.”

“I believe the mystery,” Liz said, her eyes falling to Maria’s necklace, “is about to come to an end.”

“They’re all the same,” Alex said quickly as he returned, his cheeks flushed. He seemed to be gaining strength himself, his hand on his chest. “Glowing brighter and stronger.”

“What could this mean, Sire?” Kyle asked as he also returned and knelt at Alex’s side.

Alex shook his head, breathing heavily. “I can – I can _feel _it. I can feel my life return, and – and my heart race as it only does when I am with you, Michael. Kyle… Michael… do you know what this means?”

_It all makes sense now!_ Michael thought, his heart hammering painfully against his chest at the realization. _Maria’s illness, her dreams of Alex, Michelle’s warning in his dreams. Michael’s connection to Alex – it was why the magic of the barrier would not touch him; _he _was the one meant to lead Mirolet’s prince back to his kingdom. Because he had taken the necklace, and brought it closer to Alex; who would need it._

_The savior is not…_

“The savior…” Kyle breathed.

“It is not a person,” Michael whispered.

Alex pointed at Maria’s necklace. “It is the Flower of Frost.”

Right then, as if summoned by the prince’s words, the ground rumbled uncontrollably. Alex’s eyes widened. He felt a cold press to heart, as if ice had been poured down his chest, and spread throughout his entire body. He felt fear and ice course throughout his veins as he had not felt in centuries.

The sun was setting, the sky turning to twilight. The moon was full tonight, and as its light hit Alex, he felt a surge of power in his fingertips. His magic… it was stronger than he had ever felt before. But would it be enough to stop _him_?

“He is coming,” Alex warned, and with the speed of lightning, grabbed his bow and quiver from beside the candles and enchantments. He had set them as extra protection, perhaps in the hope that, with the others here, he would be able to create another spell to find the savior. With the savior found, however, he would have to draw on their power instead.

He notched an arrow, aiming it at the water where the shadows were already beginning to gather. “Elias, take the necklace from Maria.”

“NO!” Maria screamed, holding onto it. “I _must_ carry it!”

Alex grit his teeth. “_Listen to me_ –”

“The flowers need a ruler, or they will fail,” she said, and Alex froze. “Your kingdom will be lost.”

Alex did not want to believe her, but he thought of the Flowers of Frost around the barrier, how they always needed his blood to work. He cursed. Now that the four Flowers were together, they needed a host. Maria would have to do for now.

“Take Maria into the cottage, then,” Michael said and unsheathed his sword. “Isobel, stay with her.”

Isobel shook her head. “What is happening? _Who_ is coming?”

“My father,” Alex answered. “A terrible demon. Arm yourselves with light, the three of you! He cannot touch you if you stay in the light.”

“A dagger couldn’t hurt either,” Kyle said, and pulled one particularly long dagger from a bag of weapons. He handed it to Isobel. “Go, stay in the cottage!”

“Michael?” Isobel looked to her brothers. “Max?”

“Go, sister,” Max nodded to her. “We will protect you from here.”

“I trust Alex with my life,” Michael reassured her. “If he says it is safe, _believe_ him.”

Isobel looked to them both, and held the dagger tightly as if ready to use it on anyone that dared come near Maria. She and Elias helped Maria into the cottage, and with a final look at all of them, she closed the door behind her.

“Of course,” Alex muttered. “We could all die tonight anyway, then there would be no point of the savior at all.”

“Your archer is very funny, Michael,” Max said, holding up his sword in the direction both Michael and Alex were. “You never told me how funny he was.”

“Dreadfully handsome though,” Liz said with a glance at him, holding up her ax over her shoulder with both hands. “I suppose that makes up for it.”

“We could very well die,” Max said with some edge. “Do you really wish your last words to be your appreciation of another man’s features?”

“It’s not as if Michael’s going to share him,” Liz defended.

“Quite right,” Michael said.

Kyle, holding up his dagger, mumbled, “There is something seriously wrong with you Vikings.”

Alex could not help but agree. The shadows gathered, and Alex tried not to wince as the cold in his chest grew stronger and stronger, so strong that Alex wondered if there had ever been a time he was numb to the cold, for it ached so strongly inside him now that he thought he might die with the pain of it.

“Alex?” Michael said, his voice colored with concern.

“I am all right,” Alex grit out, aiming his arrow at whatever decided to come out of the water.

The shadows gathered and gathered, forming a man. He did not look as tortured as Alex’s brothers had, did not seem so miserable. Alex remembered his face as if he had seen him yesterday. His cold smile, his brown hair, lighter than Alex’s, streaked with grey. His eyes the same, empty icy-blue that had always regarded Alex with such disdain, even as a child.

Alex’s hand faltered on his arrow.

Jesse smiled. “My boy. How _good_ it is to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same, father,” Alex said, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice even as his heart raced. “But then I would be lying.”

“Yes,” he said solemnly, folding his hands together. His robes were not white and blue, but black and gold, and they fell into shadows at his feet. “You never _had_ learned to appreciate all that I have given you, have you? A prince, a beloved heir… and still, you were never satisfied.”

Alex clenched his jaw. He would not fall for these lines, he would not allow himself to be tricked into losing focus.

“It has been centuries, father,” Alex said. “I have had a long time to train myself. In a matter of weeks, you have attempted to trick my friend, and had turned my brothers into your slaves to commit your murders for you. Do you _really_ think you can fool me into an argument now?”

“So you say,” his father smiled. It was like the grin of a skull, beckoning you to follow it to the depths of Tartarus. “And yet you have still not fired your arrow.” He tilted his head. “You do not want to kill me, Alexander.”

“I do not,” Alex confessed, the tension in his chest eased with the words. If Kyle or Michael were stunned, they did not show it. “I do not want to kill you, but I will if you force my hand.”

Jesse hummed. “And what, may I ask, is your condition for – er – _sparing my life_?”

“Give up the magic you stole. I will return Mirolet to the light, and you are never to be heard from, in this or any other land. If you are, I will come for you.”

“Grovel in the shadows, you mean,” Jesse said. He was still smiling, but his eye twitched, its blue color turning to red. “Hide away like a mouse hiding from a hawk. _That_ is the fate you wish for me.”

Alex steadied his arrow. He showed no mercy. “_That_ is more generous a fate than you deserve. After what you have done, Mirolet will never forgive you.”

“Mirolet loves me!” he snapped, the smile falling from his face and turning to a cold sneer. “You think they ever wanted _you_ to rule them? They knew what you were! Your _filthy_ nature! I only took magic to rid the kingdom of it. _You_, on the other hand, will never be rid of –”

He was abruptly cut off as an ax swung toward him and hit him in the chest.

He stared down at it, and glared at Liz who huffed impatiently. “Well, he was rather going on about it, wasn’t he?”

“Goodness, we are all going to die,” Kyle muttered.

“I do not care who you are,” Liz said, her voice growing darker. “I do not care what you have done. All that matters to me is that my brother loves this – this _prince_, and he has turned into a rather fascinating mystery. If you insult Alex, you insult _me_.” She pulled a small dagger from her leather belt. “And _no one_ insults me.”

“You will not touch him, and you will certainly not touch Maria,” Max said, his sword tip pointed at the beast. “You have invaded the land of Vikings.”

“For that, _trespasser_,” Michael said, grinning a devil’s grin, “you _will_ be sorry.”

Alex could not be astonished. He did not have the chance. The three raised their weapons and yelled, “FOR THE GODS!” and only between Alex and Kyle did the two breathe the words, “For Mirolet,” as they had breathed them for years, before they all ran at the king.

As Alex’s brothers had, the king had barely stepped out of the water before he, too, was engulfed by shadows. His eyes did not turn black as the others’ had, but a deep red, the color of blood. He did not seem to need to touch the ground as the others had, flying high above their heads, the ink-black sky, illuminated by stars, shining behind him.

Alex could see Max and Liz fighting on one end, and Michael and Kyle fighting on the other. He, however, ran at the front, shooting arrow after arrow. The weapons went through his father as if he were nothing more than smoke. He willed himself to think of Mirolet, of the savior’s safety, of his desperate desire to see both this land and Mirolet protected – but nothing worked. Neither he, nor any of the others, could aim a single hit.

Michael and Max slashed, and Kyle and Liz stabbed repeatedly, but with every hit, more damage was done to them as Jesse swatted them aside with his arms. Alex pushed himself off the boulder where he had been thrown, something leaking down his arm and back. He felt ice in his chest, his legs, his head. He wanted to fall and stay down, but then he spotted him; there, several feet from him, was Kyle, lying still on the ground, Alex’s father reaching back an arm to stab him through.

Alex saw red. The rest of the world around him vanished as he had image after image flash in his mind; a boy with dark hair and darker eyes, a wide smile even as he shivered through the water soaking him. He had watched in awe as Alex had told him of his kingdom, his powers, who he was. The boy had promised to stay at Alex’s side through his quest, to help him.

_“Perhaps Mirolet can be _my_ home, too!”_ he had said. And Alex had promised himself that, no matter what happened, he would protect him.

“NO!”

Alex pushed himself off the ground, aimed an arrow, and felt the magic pulse through his fingers as he released it. It shot through the sky, once again, as it had when he had protected Elias, cutting through light as it flew, and seared his father’s arm off.

His father shrieked loudly, his mouth four times as large, his triple set of teeth gray and sharp as he screamed.

The sound seemed to wake Kyle, and Alex was at his side in an instant, pulling him up and leading him to behind a boulder. His lip was cut, as was Alex’s, and there was a large bruise under his eye. Alex put a hand to his cheek.

“Kyle, are you all right?”

Kyle groaned as he covered Alex’s hand with his own, his brows furrowed. “How did… you do that?”

Alex shook his head. “I… I don’t know, I only thought of you, and I…” he trailed off, his eyes, like Kyle’s, widening.

“_Love_,” both of them said at the same time.

“You have to be fighting for someone you truly love,” Alex muttered to himself.

“Oh Hades,” Kyle said, holding up his dagger tightly. “Just _tell_ me to think of you,” and without another word, he ran out, yelling as he slashed at Jesse. To Alex’s shock, the monster shrieked as he was cut. No blood fell, but the shadows did not reform, as if they had been blown apart by the wind.

“Think of someone you love!” Alex called out as he notched another arrow. “Only love can defeat him!”

“Well, _why_ did you not bloody say that sooner?!” Max yelled, and glanced at his wife before he swung his sword again. “For Liz! For Elias! For Isobel!” With every name, Max swung, and with every hit, his father fell back, screeching so loudly it was a miracle the barrier could keep the sound hidden from the village.

“Blasted, rotten, BASTARD!” Liz screamed as she also swung with her ax which she had retrieved.

The king attempted to stab them, but Michael had appeared at his other arm’s side, locked eyes with Alex, and jumped high in the air, swinging his sword in a wide arc that cut off his father’s other arm.

Alex kept his eyes on Michael as he notched another arrow, aiming it at the king’s head.

“You cannot escape me, Alexander!” the creature wailed. “You cannot escape the blood that runs through your veins! You are a monster with or without me!”

Alex thought of Mirolet. Of his people. His brothers, and Michelle, and Kyle, and Michael. _Michael, Michael, Michael._ He thought of the roof of the castle, watching dawn come with his brothers. He thought of sitting at the fireplace with Kyle, making up stories in the dead of night when neither of them could get to sleep. He thought of lying with Michael, laughing with Michael, holding Michael and feeling all the love in the world in the Viking’s eyes. He felt the magic course through every inch of his body, his heart breathing it into every muscle as it had not even done when he was a child, afraid of a world he had not yet known. A world he could never acknowledge as good.

He lowered the arrow to point at the place where the king’s heart ought to have been, though Alex knew there was nothing there now. The arrow glimmered silver in the moonlight, the air was clearer than ever before, the stars watching carefully now; this moment in time when a curse of centuries finally came to an end.

“No,” Alex said quietly. “I am not.” He let go.

The arrow sailed through the air with a whistle, and try as he might escape, the king was not fast enough to avoid the magic weapon. It pierced his chest, and he shrieked into the night, thrashing in the sky as the arrow disappeared, turning the rest of the king into ash and smoke. The others averted their eyes as the creature burned, but Alex watched his father catch his own eyes with his red ones. He turned red like the coals of a dimly lit fire, then smoke, then was blown away by the breeze.

The waves and wind turned still, as if the king had never existed at all. Alex’s heart beat in his own ears, and he knew, without knowing how he knew it, that he was no longer immortal. He was no longer frozen in time; he was no longer cursed.

“He did not turn back into a man,” Michael said into the silence as he came to stand beside Alex. “The others all did before they died.”

Alex let his arm, his bow in hand, fall to his side. “There was no humanity left in him for that. I expect what he showed us when he arrived was the last I would ever see him as I knew him.”

Alex could feel Michael’s eyes on him. “Are you sad?”

Alex remained watching the place his father had once been, no more. “I am a lot of things.” With effort, he turned away, looking Michael over. Then he looked to Kyle who limped to his side. He cupped his friend’s jaw fondly, and patted his shoulder. He looked to Max and Liz and found them exhausted and bruised, but otherwise all right.

“Come,” he said. “We are not finished…” he trailed off, the world spinning around him. He stumbled, and felt someone catch him before he could hit the ground. There were voices calling his name, Michael and Kyle, even Liz and Max, but Alex could not respond.

Darkness, warmer than any he had ever faced, overcame him.

“He has suffered much,” Kyle had said. “His brothers are all gone, now his father is dead and the curse is ended. He needs time. He would not have taken it willingly. This will at the very least force him to rest.”

Michael recalled those words even now, the next day, the sun high in the sky. Alex slept on his bed where Michael had set him after he had lost consciousness the night before, his head against Michael’s chest for the Viking could not leave him to lie alone.

Maria and Isobel rested on Kyle’s bed across the room. He had offered them it when they had returned and found that Maria was already sitting up on her own.

“The Flower must have been desperate to be back with the other three,” Kyle had explained. “Now that it is, it should cause you no pain, Maria.”

“The four of them then create the savior to restore Mirolet?” Maria had asked, and the hunter nodded.

“Why four?” Isobel had asked, and Kyle shrugged.

“Who knows? The number can mean many things. Four seasons, the four official colors of Mirolet; blue, white, silver, and gold. Four princes; Alex, Flint, Clay, and Gregory.”

Whatever the reason, Maria’s condition had been improving by the minute, though Michael had the suspicion she would not completely recover until Mirolet was restored.

Michael was running his fingers through Alex’s hair, his lips pressed against the prince’s head when Kyle came in with a tray of bowls. He handed one to Isobel and Maria, who kindly thanked him, and sat at the edge of Alex’s bed, holding one out for Michael. Michael politely shook his head.

“He has a very pretty face, doesn’t he?” Isobel said almost thoughtlessly as she rested her chin on her hands, her eyes on Alex.

“They both do,” Maria said, looking from Alex to Kyle and back again. “_Goodness_, if this is what the people of Mirolet look like…”

“Stop staring at him!” Michael snapped, holding Alex close.

“Oh what do you think we’re going to do? _Eat_ him?”

“Who is eating who?” Max asked as he walked in through the open door, Elias at his heels. Elias had told them the night they had returned of Alex saving him from one of his brothers. Max realized Alex had killed his own to protect a stranger’s child, and had been exceptionally careful of making certain he was comfortable after that. Liz stared at Alex with an expression that was fond beyond the adoration of his beautiful face. Michael had snapped at her to stop staring as well.

“Is he awake yet?” Elias asked eagerly, leaning over the edge of the bed to get a good look at the archer.

Michael raked his fingers through Alex’s hair. “Not yet,” he said, and pushed away the thought of Alex never waking up. That was not to happen. His archer _would_ wake, he was certain of it.

“Leave him be, Elias,” Max said, guiding Elias to an empty chair by the fire. “Let the man sleep.”

“He’s still asleep then?” Liz asked as she walked in as well. She had a large quilt in her hands. “Oh good. Here, Kyle, I have made these for you.”

Kyle looked startled, but received the quilts kindly as Liz deposited them into his arms. “I had these lying around, I mended and washed them. They should keep you warm in that big castle.” She sat beside her husband near the fire. “Given what you’ve told us of Mirolet, it sounds awfully cold between those walls.”

“Oh – er –” Kyle flushed, and Michael could not help but remember what Alex had told him, of Kyle’s entire village disappearing in one night. He wondered how long it had been since Kyle had felt the affections of a mother or older sister.

“In truth, all I know is what my Sire has told me, and he has told me many stories. It is called Mirolet because its castle is more informally called the Castle of Mirrors. It can be hidden from outsiders because it reflects the land outside it. A wonder to behold, according to His Royal Highness.”

“To think,” Liz said grimly, “my brother has nabbed himself a _prince_.”

“Am I even here anymore?” Max grumbled, and Liz laughed, hugging his side affectionately.

“Laughter,” Alex muttered, and Michael’s hold on him tightened, his breath held as the archer’s eyes fluttered open. “I have not heard that in so long a time.”

“Your Majesty!” Kyle was kneeling at his side in an instant, and Elias was at Kyle’s other side.

“Prince Alex, are you all right? Are you feeling better?” Elias asked, and Max took hold of his shoulder, gently pulling him back.

“Do not crowd him, son,” he said.

Alex looked around, seemed to realize who he was lying on, and looked up at the Viking’s face. He seemed at ease now. “_Michael_.” Without pause or hesitation, Alex leaned up, cupping Michael’s jaw, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Michael was startled for only the briefest moment before his eyes closed and he kissed the archer back. When they pulled apart, Isobel and Liz were watching them with red cheeks, Max and Kyle had looked away, and Elias’s eyes were covered with Max’s large hand, the boy uselessly attempting to pull it off.

“What’s happening? I want to see!”

“You will do no such thing!”

Only Maria, Michael realized, was staring intently at Alex. “I cannot be parted with the necklace,” she blurted, and everyone turned to stare at her. She, however, was only concerned with Alex’s dark gaze. She clutched the necklace tightly.

“I know you need it to save your kingdom, I know it is rightfully yours, but… is there no way for all of that to be achieved and to still keep it with me?”

“Maria,” Isobel said, her gaze serious. “That flower almost killed you.”

“You are wrong, Isobel,” she said fiercely, clutching the necklace tighter. “Being apart from the other Flowers was what was killing me. Don’t you see? I _must_ be with the Flowers. I must stay in Mirolet.”

Isobel stared. “Is this about what you told me? Do you… _want_ to go away?”

Maria cupped her cheek, pained. “I would rather die than leave you, my Isobel. Come with me.”

“Maria…”

“I have always been different, Isobel, always wanted different things. Even _you_ were never so eager for the life of a Viking. Come with me, and we can be something else. Whatever we want.”

Isobel shook her head a moment, her eyes wide and full of tears. Michael thought she might say no, she might turn away from Maria – something he could not fathom, for ever since they were children, Isobel had been at Maria’s side, protecting her. Then his sister looked to Alex, her eyes pleading.

“_Is_ it possible for she and I to stay together in Mirolet? Would you even allow such a thing?”

Alex was holding Maria’s gaze. “Mirolet had never been a warm home under my father’s rule. But he is no longer the king, I am, and all of that can change now. If the Flower can bring back my kingdom, and you, Maria, still insist on keeping the necklace, that would mean you would have to take on the responsibility of the Keeper of the Flowers of Frost. To watch over them until the day you die, and make certain they are never put in harm’s way again.”

“A Keeper?” Isobel asked, a hand on Maria’s wrist. “What would that mean?”

Alex and Kyle shared a meaningful look, and Kyle explained, “It would mean you would have to train in magic, for only magic can keep such Flowers safe. It would also mean Mirolet would be your home, and you can never leave. For where the Flowers are, that is where the kingdom will be.”

“Hang on,” Max said, his brows furrowed. “So I – we would never see Isobel or Maria again? And I assume _you_ will want to stay with Alex?” he said to Michael. Michael said nothing, only holding Alex closer as a response. Some of the tension in Alex’s shoulders seemed to dissipate, as if he had feared Michael would not want to go with him.

Liz shook her head. She seemed to be attempting to muster a smile, though it was too sad for anyone to believe. “To – to lose all three of you? Goodness, that’s…”

Alex looked to Kyle. They seemed to have a silent conversation, but before Michael could ask, Alex turned to him and said, “My love, tell me, do you want to stay here? In this village?”

Michael’s brows furrowed. “_What_?”

“Would coming with me to Mirolet make you unhappy?”

Michael searched his face. “Do – do you not want me to go?”

“I _do_,” Alex said fiercely, lightly touching Michael’s jaw with one hand and pressing his other hand to Michael’s chest as if reassuring himself of the Viking’s heartbeat. “I could not bear to go without you, but… if you wish to stay here as well, I think I may have an idea that would keep you and Isobel with your siblings, and with Maria and I at the same time. That is,” he looked to Max and Liz, “_if _you accept it.”

Max and Liz looked to each other. Max with wariness, Liz with surprise. Michael felt Alex clutch his hand tightly, his silver charm on his bracelet cold and reassuring against Michael’s skin, and he put a hand on Alex’s chest, comforted as well by the archer’s heartbeat.

Max looked to Alex and nodded. Liz said, “Go on, then, mystery archer. What do you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


	8. Going Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've finally made it.  
Thank you to allthehearteyes on tumblr (deactivated her account months ago) for providing the winter aesthetic that had inspired this fic in the first place.  
Thank you to all of those who reblogged teasers, links to the chapters, and for continually showing your support -- it's meant so much to me. I hope this has all been worth it.

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Michael woke to find himself alone in bed, the archer’s side empty.

He sat up, looking around for his Alex. He had just had the most wonderful dream, he and Alex lying in a field of flowers, free of any clothing, with only each other to hold and explore as they wished. Michael kissed every inch of Alex’s skin, every finger, every toe. Everything was left for him to marvel, everything open for his pleasure. Alex moaned his name and gripped him tightly, as if Michael were the most precious treasure to ever be. It was only as he opened his eyes did he remember that the night before had not been so different. For he and Alex were finally together, they could touch one another as they pleased, and the threat of the shadows was gone.

That was why, as Michael narrowed his eyes at the dark corners of the room, he felt no fear that the darkness would return, that it would take his Alex from him and hold him in its curse as it once had.

He found his prince standing in front of the large window in the room, his arms crossed tightly. By the tension in his shoulders and the straightness of his spine, Michael knew the man was unhappy.

Michael frowned as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge, the silk sheets pooling around his hips.

“Alex?”

The prince looked over his shoulder at Michael, some of the concern in the tightness of his muscles visibly eased as he ran his eyes over the Viking, as if he had been hoping to draw strength from Michael, and had managed it.

As Michael drew near, his bare body pressed to the back of Alex’s clothed one, he followed Alex’s line of sight into the sky, dawn only now breaking through the clouds, turning the world from midnight-blue to gold and rose and violet. And realization came.

He remembered the words Alex had told him, what felt like now so long ago; _When there is no moon in the sky, I am in my weakest state. Because of the curse, I could only experience a slight exhaustion._

His hold on Alex’s waist tightened, to remind the man he loved he was there, his chin hooked over Alex’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the prince’s neck.

“The moon hides tonight, does it?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Alex nodded wordlessly. Michael could feel the distress in his prince’s body, keeping him taut in the Viking’s arms. Michael held him tighter, and felt some of that distress fade slightly as Alex leaned back against him. His shirt and trousers were a fine white silk, its hems embroidered with light-blue. It must have seemed very odd to him, Michael realized, to need the Viking’s warmth. To no longer be immune to the cold night, though Michael could not feel it now himself with the man he loved pressed against him.

“The curse is gone, my love,” he muttered softly into Alex’s shoulder before kissing it. “I promise you, it is gone.”

Alex clenched his jaw for only a moment, and Michael feared he would be angry with him, would rage that Michael could not understand how afraid he really was, but the prince’s eyes fluttered shut, and he turned his head away, as if unable to bear looking at the sky, waiting for the moonless sight any longer. He nuzzled Michael’s cheek, and Michael felt something flutter in his stomach.

“I know it is,” Alex said, softer still.

“Yet you still fear it.” It was not an accusation or a taunt, but an observation.

Alex sighed, and in that one soft sound, Michael could hear the phantoms of the past haunting the man he loved, whispering threats in his ears, warning of their return. Michael wished, not for the first time, that he could use his sword to stand between Alex and all the thoughts that worried him.

“I have lived with it so long. Time has meant nothing to me, Michael, for _so long_, I –” he shook his head. “All of this feels like a dream… and I fear to wake from it.”

Michael looked down at the view below him. Miles of the village of Mirolet, the small cottages lie peacefully amongst the wide gardens, a narrow dirt path streaming between the houses, unperturbed of invaders. For no one would visit Mirolet except those who knew of its existence; and there were so few. To one end lay the still sea, the water as smooth as glass, reflecting the gold and blue and white above. Several small boats and nets lay along the shore, speaking of a people that had once been hidden away and now lived as commonly as if the shadows had never taken them at all.

Beyond that, the wide expanse of forest Michael had known like the back of his hand, and further beyond that, Michael’s village where his brother and sister rest, undisturbed.

He thought of that moment, after the king had been defeated and his love had woken from a long sleep, when Alex had first confessed of his plan.

_ Alex looked to Kyle. They seemed to have a silent conversation, but before Michael could ask, Alex turned to him and said, “My love, tell me, do you want to stay here? In this village?”_

_ Michael’s brows furrowed. “What?”_

_ “Would coming with me to Mirolet make you unhappy?”_

_ Michael searched his face. “Do – do you not want me to go?”_

_ “I do,” Alex said fiercely, lightly touching Michael’s jaw with one hand and pressing his other hand to Michael’s chest as if reassuring himself of the Viking’s heartbeat. “I could not bear to go without you, but… if you wish to stay here as well, I think I may have an idea that would keep you and Isobel with your siblings, and with Maria and I at the same time. That is,” he looked to Max and Liz, “if you accept it.”_

_ Max and Liz looked to each other. Max with wariness, Liz with surprise. Michael felt Alex clutch his hand tightly, his silver charm on his bracelet cold and reassuring against Michael’s skin, and he put a hand on Alex’s chest, comforted as well by the archer’s heartbeat._

_ Max looked to Alex and nodded. Liz said, “Go on, then, mystery archer. What do you have in mind?”_

_ Alex took a deep breath and said, “I will raise Mirolet here, on the other side of the forest.”_

_ The cottage had fallen to silence in that moment, all eyes on Alex as if attempting to comprehend what he was suggesting._

_ It was, surprisingly, Elias who spoke first, his eyes bright. “So you would be living with us?”_

_ Alex blushed, glancing at Michael. “Not _with_ you, exactly, but… very near you.”_

_ “Would that not cause chaos?” Max asked. “If the villagers were to see a – a _palace_ in the distance –”_

_ “They would not see it,” Kyle said. “The Flowers of Frost draw on the strength of the people of Mirolet. They could create a barrier around Mirolet to keep it hidden from sight or hearing.”_

_ Michael straightened, his hold on Alex tightening. “Those blasted Flowers Alex had to _bleed_ over, you mean?”_

_ Kyle eyed him sharply. “He only had to do that because he was the only sorcerer and citizen of Mirolet. Once the kingdom is raised from the shadows, he will not be. The mere presence of Mirolet’s sorcerers will be enough, as there will be many.”_

_ “And with the Keeper,” Alex nodded at Maria who was holding onto her necklace with resolve, “the Flowers will always be protected, therefore the barrier will never fall. It will be stronger than ever.”_

_ “Is that even possible?” Liz asked. “To raise the kingdom anywhere?”_

_ “Mirolet was taken into the shadows,” Alex said. “It was not hidden in any one place. As the shadows can form, so can the light. The village of Mirolet can be _here_, in this place. This cottage could be one of many.”_

_ Kyle raised a brow as if to suggest that it be his, as everyone was aware where Alex, the prince, would be staying._

_ Alex paid him no mind as he said, “_You_ are no less a prince than I am. You will be staying in the palace next to me.”_

_ “I am not Mirolet-born,” Kyle said softly, though his eyes glimmered. “I cannot be a prince –”_

_ “Nonsense,” Alex said calmly. “My father was Mirolet-born, and look at the destruction he brought to the kingdom. There will be a change in the monarchy. No longer will a royal be destined, but chosen. You have proved yourself a more worthy ruler, Kyle, in the nearly two decades I’ve known you than my father has in his four. If I am still a prince, it is only because of you, so if there ever truly was a savior, it is you. Can anyone in this room doubt such a thing?”_

_ No one said a word, and Kyle clenched his jaw, his eyes on the ground. Michael looked around. Max, Liz, Isobel, and Maria had not known Kyle long, no longer than a day or two, but his kindness and bravery had shined through in so short a time, gaining the respect of all who stood before him. Though Michael would never confess to it, he was grateful for Kyle, for Alex had given up hope and purpose until he had met the hunter. And if he hadn’t, Michael shuddered to think of a world in which he and Alex had never met._

_ “To keep Michael, Isobel, and Maria close…” Max contemplated. “And you are certain the two worlds need never know of one another?”_

_ “The barrier should be strong enough that the two worlds need never cross paths,” Alex said. “Not unless the wanderer _knows_ of what lies beyond the forest.”_

_ “It must be done,” Maria said. “I cannot bear to have Isobel beside me if she is unhappy. And I cannot be parted from Liz,” she reached a hand to her friend who took it willingly, pressing it to her heart. “Please, Alex – er – Your Majesty. If you can raise Mirolet here, won’t you?”_

Michael remembered the way Alex had taken Maria’s hands in his, the way they had stood inside the barrier, and Alex had had Maria repeat the incantation after him. She had no magic, not yet, but as Alex raised Mirolet, he would be transferring some of the powers of the Flowers of Frost to her, and the Flowers would forever be linked to her.

Michael watched as the sun grew so bright that it seemed the shadows would never again appear. He and the others had been forced to look away, only for an instant, but when they looked again, they found themselves in the middle of a small village, the cottage stones as grey as storm clouds, and up the road, there was a large castle, as high as the sun, whose walls reflected the fields of snow and the white sky. It was a dream come to life.

Alex’s hands fell away from Maria’s as he looked around with wide eyes. Slowly, people emerged from their homes, squinting for only a moment. They looked as if they had not slept in centuries, but as they took in the homes around them, the palace, and lastly, their prince standing in the center of the village, joy such as Michael could never have imagined took their expressions.

“Prince Alexander?” someone in the crowd had said.

“It is one of the princes.”

“Our prince has saved us!”

“He is returned! Our beloved Alexander!”

“Behold! It is Alexander! He has come back to us!”

The crowd’s voices rose, but it seemed as if Alex could not hear them. He looked at their faces with a love as that which only the greatest of rulers could have for their people, and his eyes had filled with tears. He felt to his knees, and wept. Michael and Kyle were immediately at his side, Michael holding him tightly against him as he screamed, and he realized the people of Mirolet were crying as well as they gathered around him.

As the sobs of the youngest prince sounded in the cold air, no one’s eyes were left dry.

Michael held on tightly to Alex now as the sounds of the prince’s pain and relief echoed in his head.

“This is no dream,” he promised. “If it was, I could not feel as strongly as I do now.” He brought his hands down Alex’s sides, over his hips, to his stomach, and as he reached lower, he felt Alex inhale deeply against him.

“I could not feel your body as I do now,” he whispered against the shell of Alex’s ear. “I could not revel in your soft skin, your arms, your waist, your cock.” He turned Alex around, pinning him against the window frame, the prince’s cheeks flushed in the light of the dawn. “If it was a dream, I could not have you as I do now, and I refuse a world in which I do not have you.”

Alex wrapped his arms around the Viking’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “My power is to weaken tonight. Much more than exhaustion –”

“And I will be here,” Michael said, running his hands up and down the prince’s sides. “To protect you, as I always do.”

Alex closed the distance between them, holding Michael tightly, sighing deeply into the crook of his neck. “I love you,” he whispered into the Viking’s skin, and Michael’s body shivered. “Are you cold? Come, return to the warmth of the bed.”

As Alex pulled Michael along with him, the sunlight shined through the windows, illuminating the large chamber. It was grander than any cottage Michael had ever entered, its walls draped in tapestries of Mirolet, of a dragon flying beneath a flower which Michael could now identify as a Flower of Frost, of a woman with Alex’s dark eyes and hair, and before her four boys, _princes_, all of different height. There was no king, but Michael did not think there was a wanting of one.

There was a rather large fireplace over which sat a multitude of gold plates, all engraved with the names of his brothers, his mother, and the sorcerers killed during his father’s rule. Alex had claimed that his family would have wanted these people forever remembered as the people of Mirolet, the innocent who were taken for a war no one wanted and no one would ever forget. The chairs, closet, and nightstands were of a gleaming mahogany brown, the rugs covering the stone ground were a deep-red, as was the four-poster bed.

When they arrived at the edge of the bed, instead of seating himself on the mattress, Michael suddenly knelt and lifted Alex in his arms, the prince letting out a startled, _“Oh!”_ before he was on his back, Michael moving to hover over him, relieving him of his clothing.

Alex bit his lower lip as Michael climbed his body, kissing his knee, his thigh, his cock, his stomach, his chest. When he came to Alex’s lips, the prince wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders, and took his lips in a long, deep kiss that sent lightning throughout Michael’s entire body, down to his toes. His knees on the silk blankets, his chest against Alex’s, he grinded into Alex’s cock as he kissed him again, the two moaning into one another’s mouths.

He wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, pulling him against him so that there remained no space at all between them. Alex’s legs spread wider as Michael grinded into him slowly – for they had all the time in the world. He reached down, aligned his cock to Alex’s hole, and then –

“Michael! Have you woken yet?” Isobel’s voice sounded, and Alex nearly jumped away from the Viking, held in place only by Michael’s arm around his waist.

“Blast that woman,” he grit out. “It’s all right,” he said to Alex. “Ignore her.”

He moved to kiss Alex again, to regain the heat that had begun to cool at his sister’s voice, but Alex was already sitting up, giving Michael a stern look.

“Are you mad?” he whispered. “You cannot ignore your sister.”

“I can,” he said. “And I will. Come here.”

He attempted to pull Alex in, but had forgotten that in the centuries Alex had been alone, he had trained in speed and agility, and before Michael knew what was happening, the archer was already on his feet, pulling on a silk robe hanging from a peg on the wall.

As his bare arse became hidden from view, Michael fell back onto his bed with a groan. “You know, I am beginning to think you care more for my sister’s needs than my own.”

“Are you not going to make yourself decent?” Alex raised a brow, ignoring his note.

Michael grabbed the end of the blanket, hiding his cock from view. “There,” he said. “I am decent.”

“Michael! Open this door!”

Alex undid the lock that Michael insisted on every night – for this purpose precisely – and an agitated Isobel stalked in, saw Michael, and turned away with disgust.

“Oh, you _are_ mental, aren’t you?!”

“Upset you cannot burst through my door anymore to irritate me?”

Isobel turned away from him with a _hmph_. “I am here for Alex, of course. When am I ever here for _you_?”

It was true, for ever since Isobel and Maria had come to reside in the castle, Isobel had come to seek out Alex almost more often than anyone else. Michael had been startled when he had come into the room one night to find Maria lying on their bed, Isobel curled closely to Alex as they talked in whispers. It greatly frustrated Michael who, more than once, was forced to pull away from his love because his sister would not leave them alone.

“You will address him as His Royal Highness,” Michael said to the ceiling, raising his finger in mock protest.

“I will _not_,” Isobel said, then looked to Alex as if she could not entirely be certain she was allowed to refuse.

He laughed. “She will not,” he said, and Isobel turned to Michael with a satisfied smirk. “What’s happened then?”

Isobel shrugged. “Maria’s been struggling with that spell you showed her last week. She’s too proud to ask for your help, however, I’m too proud not to.”

“I see,” Alex said, and Michael noticed him glance at the window. “Very well. We best get this sorted now. Give me a moment to get dressed, and I will find you in the west wing.”

Isobel nodded and left, but not before giving Michael a stern look as if to warn him from keeping Alex away from her longer than he had to be.

Michael rolled his eyes, and as soon as the door closed, leapt out of bed, following Alex where he had come to stand before the closet.

He wrapped an arm around the archer’s waist, and began sucking on his neck, his other hand reaching under the robe and taking Alex’s cock as he himself grinded his own against the archer’s arse, attempting to gain back the heat he so desperately wanted.

“Wh – _ah_!” Alex inhaled sharply as his cock jumped in Michael’s hand. “What’re you –”

“If you believe I am going to make it through this morning without having properly touched you,” he growled against Alex’s ear, pulling Alex harder against his chest, “you are _mad_.”

So the room filled with Alex’s moans and Michael’s grunts as Michael pushed him against the wall, his cock slapping against the archer’s arse. When they came, panting heavily against one another, their hands interlaced, Michael kissed all along Alex’s back, even as he attempted to dress himself. The weather had grown warmer, so Alex did not need to wear wool as he had those many months ago when Mirolet had first returned. Michael worried it would be too much for him to adjust to, but the archer had dressed in layers when he had needed it, and moved to the fireplace every so often when he was cold.

It was only in the middle of the nights in those first few months when he and Michael were alone that he confessed the need for warmth frightened him, and that the only heat he did not fear was that which was granted by Michael’s body. Michael had held Alex all of those nights, and longer than he had needed, but never than what was wanted.

Both dressed in thin shirts and trousers and came out to a fuming Isobel. Alex blushed and Michael had merely kissed his cheek proudly as if to say, _Yes, I _did_ touch him. Feeling envious, are you?_

As if hearing him, Isobel rolled her eyes, and off they went across the hall that Michael had walked so many times the previous months. The walls were draped in tapestry, the tables held vases of vibrant flowers, and the windows stretched out to show both the land Michael had always known, and the land he had come to know, turned to one. The lakes with Mirolet’s ships, the two villages, different in appearance and endurance, separated by a large forest, and glowing at the bottom, bright and vibrant as ever before, a Flower of Frost, protecting the kingdom and keeping its barriers up.

Alex and Michael reached the west wing, the highest tower in the castle, and opened a ladder in the ceiling, climbing into the wide room where Maria chose to focus her magic studies. The roof was slanted, and there was a rather large window in the two opposing walls that let in the early sunlight. The woman sat cross-legged in front of a wilting rose, her eyes closed in concentration. Michael’s eyes fell to her necklace in which the savior, the grandest of the Flowers of Frost, glowed in its small glass casing.

Beside her, guiding her gently, was the tall woman Michael had come to know over the past few months. She had long dark hair that curled against her back, her eyes as dark as Alex’s, and her voice almost as soothing.

“Auntie,” Alex said, and Maria looked up, her concentration broken. Isobel sat down beside her. “How is she doing?”

The physician, Michelle, smiled. “Brilliantly. Though she _does_ have a habit of exhausting herself when there is no need for it.”

Isobel scoffed. “I am well aware of _that_.”

Maria huffed, rubbing her eyes. “I am not working _fast_ enough. If I could only learn the revival spell at a quicker pace –”

“You would be limp on the floor,” Alex said, moving to the opposite side of Michelle. Michael glanced at her, and noticed her expression dim slightly. It was always this way, since the day they had returned; Alex could not bear being too close to his aunt, nor could he be beside her. He would not tell Michael why, though Michael suspected _he_ was not the one Alex could speak to of this. After all, Michael was not the one Alex had spent decades searching for Mirolet with.

“You need to calm yourself,” he said, and looked down. “To strengthen life is a difficult and long process. You needn’t push yourself to know it now. The Flowers of Frost have never been stronger. We are safe.”

“But Mirolet –”

“It… took me centuries to save Mirolet from the shadows, and it led me to Michael,” here, Michael stood beside him, his hand in the prince’s hair. “You must make time for yourself, and for the people around you, or your life will be consumed with magic.”

“Was that what happened to you?” Maria asked, her hand around her necklace as it usually was when she was concerned about something. “You were consumed with magic?”

“Maria,” Michael warned, but Alex shook his head, his smile kind.

“I was consumed by many things. They all started because I could not push my magic far enough, and I wanted to, for I believed that to master it all at once, to focus everything I had on it, would be the best thing for Mirolet. Instead, it nearly destroyed me. Trust me, Maria, that is not a life to be eager for.”

Alex turned quiet near the end, but Michael could not help but be in awe of him. In times, it was difficult for him to remember just how much older Alex truly was, how much longer he had lived. He could not help, however, but think of Alex’s life before Kyle, before he had met someone to distract him from the magic, someone to tell him that he must pace himself.

At his words, Maria looked to Isobel who was watching her with a fond concern, and then back to the rose. She bit her lower lip, and finally lowered her hand, preferring to take Isobel’s instead.

“It is early,” Maria said petulantly, though at further inspection, she seemed to be refraining from a smile. “Far too early. How could you allow me to leave bed at such an hour?”

Isobel searched her face and smiled softly. She shrugged. “I haven’t a clue what I was thinking, my dear. Come along, off to bed, before you get feverish and blame me.”

“It _would_ be your fault,” Maria mumbled as they reached the door. “You know how easily I fall ill.”

“Don’t I,” Isobel responded and their voices turned muffled as the door in the floor shut behind them.

Michelle, Michael noticed, was still staring at Alex who seemingly preferred to watch the sunrise outside the window, the gold dancing across his eyes and turning the tips of his hair to gold as well.

“It seems strange, does it not?” Michelle asked, and Alex looked down, his hair hiding his eyes. “To be here, once again, after so long a separation.”

“It does feel odd,” Alex said. “As if it is not real.” Michael felt Alex’s fingers grip his ankle for only a moment as if the archer was attempting to remind himself that it all was.

Michelle’s gaze as she searched Alex’s face held all the warmth and sadness of a mother, Michael thought. Did Alex not see that? Or did he choose not to?

She began to stand. “D’you know, I –”

“Sorry,” Alex stood and hastily walked toward the door. “I have to check on a few things.”

With lightning speed, the prince was gone, and Michael and Michelle were left in the room alone. Michael glanced at Michelle. Her shoulders had fallen, her expression grim, the smile she wore so sad now that Michael could not help but reach out and lightly touch her shoulder.

“It has been long since he has set foot inside these walls,” Michael said. “He needs time.”

“He is all the family I have left after…” Michelle looked up, her lashes wet. Michael nodded, for he understood what she feared. He understood what it felt when Alex turned away. “I cannot lose him twice.”

Alex was acting like a child, he knew he was. At the sight of his aunt, he could no longer breathe nor think, no longer smile and offer it as genuine, though in reality, he ached to hold her, to hear her heartbeat, to realize that she was real, that she was not another figment of his dreams – that he had saved her, and that his blood-family was not dead. That he was not all that was left.

He looked now, as he always did, for the one person that always cleared his head and allowed him to think rationally. He came down a hall, remembering – not for the first time – the years spent chasing his brothers through these walls, the time spent hiding from his father, or playing with the servants. A few showed themselves now, bowing or curtseying respectfully to Alex as they passed.

Alex came to a stop in front of a large door and knocked. When he received no response, he knocked again, harder.

“Kyle?” he called. “Kyle!”

When he was again ignored, he slumped against the doorframe, wondering where his friend might be. He pushed himself off the wall, planning to search the courtyard, when Kyle came around the corner of the corridor, his lips pursed in bemusement.

He saw Alex and he sighed. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for hours!”

“_You’ve _been looking for _me_?” Alex asked. “Curious. I came looking for you.”

“Oh goodness,” Kyle scratched his head, exasperated. “You know, Sire, that I always inquire after your health every month, on _this_ day exactly. Haven’t you the good sense to stay where I can find you?”

Alex blinked. _Kyle still remembered about the moon’s absence then?_ His heart churned with something he did not want to identify. “And _you_ know that I always loathe your inquiring, for I am in perfect health. You shouldn’t have left your room.”

“You shouldn’t have left yours!” Kyle argued, and the two stared at one another for a long time before they abruptly burst into laughter. They laughed until they slid to the ground, the two lying on their backs in the open hallway for anyone to see. After a long moment, when their laughter finally subsided, they were left staring at the ceiling, the two of them nearly resting their heads on one another’s shoulders as they lay in opposite directions.

“How are you feeling?” Kyle asked into the silence. “Really.”

The walls were brightly lit with the light outside the windows, the birds chirped happily, and the leaves rustled in the wind. Alex sighed. “I cannot look at her,” he confessed.

“Michelle?” Kyle asked, and Alex nodded. He turned to his side so that he was facing Kyle. “Still?”

Alex shut his eyes. “I thought it would be easier after so many months, but…”

“She reminds you,” Kyle said, “of your loss.” Alex soundlessly opened his eyes again to look at him. “She reminds you of the castle you had once known, the boy you had once been, and the family you had once had. That does not go away so easily.”

“You knew?” Alex said, his voice steadier than he felt. “You knew I feared her?”

“Of course I did,” Kyle scoffed, and turned to his side as well so that he and Alex were facing each other. “As fond as you are of that Viking –”

“I love him,” Alex gently corrected.

“—no one knows you as I,” he finished, and to that, Alex had nothing to say. “I will always have that.”

And as he searched the hunter’s dark eyes, Alex could see it. The love meant for him, and only him, that had been there since the day he had pulled Kyle from those cold waters. The love that had never faded in the slightest, and the love that never would. Perhaps it was selfish, to be pleased that a part of Kyle will always love Alex, will always be his. It kept them together, a bond so strong it could never break. And Alex took comfort in that; that however things changed, there would always be a Kyle-and-Alex, always the two of them, in a world that burned, but never touched them.

Alex sniffed, and turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling, feeling as if he could see far beyond the walls. “You are adjusting to your new position?”

“I enjoy caring for the people of Mirolet,” Kyle said. “Listening to their concerns, standing alongside you to spread peace and justice throughout the kingdom. It is a much simpler post than my previous one.”

Alex raised a brow. “Was caring for me truly so tasking? I was happy to do it for you.”

Kyle scoffed. “I was talking about withstanding that ogre’s presence.”

Alex nudged him with his elbow. “Do not speak of my love in such a way.”

“_Gods_, the way you talk, you would think he was a delicate thing, wouldn’t you?”

“And I supposed the Chief of the Guards is a more suitable figure?” Alex asked, and very pointedly did not look at Kyle who he _knew_ had turned to him with wide eyes.

“Chief of the Guards? Why mention her?”

“A passing thought,” Alex said calmly. “Nothing more.”

“Chief of the Guards,” Kyle muttered, and he might have fooled Alex had the archer not known him his entire life. “I don’t even really remember her name. What was it? Jessica? Jennifer?”

Alex’s lips twitched. “Jenna.”

“Yes, yes, _Jenna_, of course.”

“Very odd that you struggle to remember her name,” Alex said contemplatively. “I was so very certain you had been watching her yesterday from the window while she trained the younger guards –”

“At any rate,” Kyle said quickly, and nudged Alex, “do not avoid your own problems by changing the subject. You must talk to Michelle, you cannot go on avoiding her forever, for you only continue to torture the both of you.”

Alex huffed a laugh. “Now my suffering aggravates you?”

“Anything that hurts you aggravates me,” Kyle grumbled. “Even if it comes from your own mind. Why do you think I am so wary of that Viking still?”

“Michael will not hurt me.”

“There’s still time,” Kyle argued.

“No.”

“It could still happen.”

“_Stop it!_” Alex laughed completely now, clutching his stomach.

The two lay together for not too long later, for soon after, Alex heard, “As deeply as I respect your friendship, this is a bit too far, do you not think so?”

Alex looked up to see Michael glowering at Kyle, and despite his supposed ‘respect for their friendship,’ he looked like he wanted nothing more than to run Alex’s friend through.

“Brilliant,” Kyle muttered. “Do join us, won’t you?”

“If I am lying on the ground,” Michael said with a sickly sweet smile, and pointed at Alex, “it will be on top of him.”

“Hang on,” Alex moved to stand, and was on his feet before he realized that Michael had offered him a hand up. He took the Viking’s hand in his and kissed his fingers. “I must go do something.” He glanced at Kyle. “Before I lose the nerve.”

“Alex –”

“I will return shortly!” Alex called as he hurried out of the hallway, not thinking, for a rare instance, of what he would say, only that he must keep moving or he would return to Michael’s and Kyle’s sides and never leave.

As he reached the corner, he heard Michael and Kyle talking.

“Do you want me to help you up as well, my darling?”

“Don’t you touch me.”

Alex stepped into the gardens behind the castle, his mind flooded with memories of his aunt, teaching him, in secret, how to revive the flowers that had wilted, how to strengthen whatever life they had left.

_“Do not let yourself get lost in the magic,”_ she would always say. A sorcerer was their heart’s greatest desires first, the light or darkness that shined within them that brought that magic to the gates – the words were only meant to be something to open the doors.

Alex had found her quickly, as he always had, even as a child when he had needed her, seated on the edge of a fountain, in her hands the delicate wilting rose Maria had been working on earlier. The water sprang from the mouth of the angel statue carrying a bow and quiver, and Alex slowed his steps, all the doubts and concerns he had had returning to him at once.

The sunlight shined on the water, turning it to light as it fell into a calm pool at the bottom of the fountain.

Alex kept his eyes on the statue as he said, “Do you remember the first spell you ever taught me?”

Michelle looked up at him then, as if so preoccupied with her thoughts she had hardly noticed him approach her at all.

She looked down at the flower in her hands, and as she twirled it between her slim, long fingers, a small smile formed on her lips. “I had not needed to teach you. You had touched a wilting rose, much like this one, and cried for its darkened petals. As your tears touched it, it came to life. Even as a child, you had such beauty.”

“It lived only for a moment,” Alex reminded her. “Then it turned black and withered away. There was no beauty in that.” He did not finish, but he suspected Michelle could hear his next words; _There was no beauty in _me_._

Michelle laughed softly, shaking her head. “Ever the doubtful.” She slowly reached a hand out to him, as if afraid he might run from her touch. “Come here, my boy.”

Alex hesitated, then curled his fingers around hers. As soon as he was seated beside her, he let go. “From the moment you had touched that flower, you feared you would only cause it pain. When you saved it, you did not rejoice, but you waited. You waited for the worst to come.”

Alex shook his head as she handed him the rose, the stem frail between his fingers. “But I was not cursed then.”

“My darling, my lovely Alexander,” she said, watching him as if he was no different than the wilting flower he held. “You have always been cursed, long before the magic kept you prisoner in your own body, because you _believed_ you were. Have I not told you? A sorcerer is only his heart’s greatest desire, and your greatest desire was to run. Until you found a reason to stay, your magic was never strong enough.”

Alex thought of that dreadful day, when Michael had nearly died under his hands, and he had forced himself to push everything he had into saving him, into strengthening whatever life remained in him, into staying, and staying strong for the Viking. It had been the source of his greatest strength.

“You, Alexander, are both light _and_ darkness,” Michelle said. “You have both the kindness to value one, and the wisdom to use the other.” Her smile widened, reminding Alex so much of his mother, the mother he had never known but had created through tapestries and the love he had received from his aunt. “At the very least, I have always believed so.”

Alex’s eyes burned, and as he looked down, the rose began to flourish, its color as bright red as any ruby, its petals as soft as feather. Alex had not uttered a spell.

“I cannot look at you without remembering them,” he quietly confessed, terrified that if he never said it, it would never leave him. “And yet I love you so dearly, and I cannot lose you as I have lost so much. It has been _centuries_, and I still remember everything that’s happened, and I am a prince, and I feel that I belong here, but I have changed so much, so how can I? How can I call this place home now?” He shook his head and looked up at his aunt, feeling as lost as that little boy, so many years ago, who had run away with a big, old book in his hands. He thought of his Michael, his beautiful, brave, stubborn Viking. He would never run again.

Michelle took his chin in her hands, lifting his face up to hold his gaze, as she used to do when he looked down as a child. “Home does not have to be the castle or its gardens. Home can be the people. Home can be a _person_.”

Alex thought of Michael again. Michael’s smile, his golden eyes, his warmth. He whispered, “Have I broken?”

A tear rolled down Michelle’s cheek as Alex could not cry himself, and she seemed to want to place an arm around his shoulders before thinking better of it, and moving a strand of dark hair behind his ear instead. “You have never been broken, my nephew. _Never_. And if any of you feels it, then we will fix it together.”

It did not take long to find Alex, it was only having Kyle at his side that irritated him. Michael had been used to their friendship, had been accepting of Alex’s fondness for his companion, but to see Kyle making Alex laugh as Michael could not – it had bothered him. He knew that he ought not to care, that Alex did not – _and could not_ – ever love even Kyle as he loved Michael, and yet…

“Are you still sulking?” Kyle asked with a roll of his eyes.

Michael glared. “I am not _sulking_.”

“You are envious of his love for me.”

“I am not – _don’t use that word_!” Michael snapped, then cursed himself for his outburst. “I sleep with Alex, I hold him, I make him smile –”

“And I make him laugh,” Kyle finished, and Michael gave him a look that could cut glass. Kyle, however, seemed neither amused nor put out by the Viking’s anger. “You fear the differences between you, the things he and I are not so different with at all.”

Michael continued walking, but said nothing. He wondered how many times Alex had told Kyle stories of Mirolet, how many adventures he had walked the hunter through when he was a child, viewing Alex as nothing less than a hero from a fairytale. Michael had no such memories, and no such connection to Mirolet other than it being the home of the man he loved. Was that enough?

“You are very different,” Kyle said, pulling Michael from his thoughts. “I will confess. The gods know how often I tried to talk him out of you – still do, in fact.”

Michael grit his teeth. “You little –”

“He is guided by his mind, by ideas and rationality and reason. _You_ are guided by your heart.” At that, Kyle made a face of disgust. “Lust and passion and want. Like a baby bird. With the body of an ape.”

“Is it that you desperately want to be maimed?” Michael threatened, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Is that the cause behind your ill humor?”

“You and Alex _should not_ fit,” Kyle went on as if Michael had not been speaking, “and yet you do.” Michael stilled. “He is _too_ much of his mind, and you are too much of your heart. You bring balance to one another, and you should not fit. But you do.”

Michael considered this. He considered the way Alex had avoided him near the beginning, how he had refused to even look at Michael because of promises and reasons Michael could not have cared less for. Then he considered the times he had been so eager to fight, to hurt Alex, only for the archer to pull away because he knew it was not worth it to kill when they only wanted to save their kingdom and leave. They were moments Michael looked on with hate, the times he had insisted he had wanted nothing more than to see the man he loved gone, but each moment had brought them closer together, and convinced Michael of what his heart had known and needed Alex’s mind to show; that he loved the prince. He loved him with everything he had.

“I cannot believe,” Michael said thoughtfully, “that you, Kyle, of all people, would comfort me.”

Kyle made a noise in the back of his throat as if he were wondering whether or not it was too late to stab Michael with his dagger. “I do it not for you, but for Alex. He has enough to adjust to without knowing of your pitiful insecurities.”

Michael, however, could not help the smirk tugging at his lips. “Do we still despise each other then?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

When they had found Alex, he and his aunt were seated together on the edge of a fountain, talking quietly as a vibrant, red rose sat in Alex’s hands. He was smiling, and Michael felt unexpected ease spread throughout his chest.

He and Kyle both stood at the archway leading out to the gardens, unable to interfere with such a peaceful moment between two sorcerers, but Michelle spotted them, and nudged her chin in their direction. Alex’s smile widened, and Michael knew he had already sensed their presence.

Michelle warned Alex to be back at the castle before nightfall. “There is no moon tonight, I am sure you are aware,” she quietly reminded Kyle, and Michael remembered that as a sorceress, Michelle might struggle tonight as well.

It was odd, to think of so many moments Michael had associated with Alex only, and to realize that there was an entire village of people like that, living among regular humans who must help those people they love tonight.

Michael suddenly thought of a conversation he had had with Alex months prior on the subject.

_ “Alex,” Michael started, unable to help himself as they walked through the village._

_ “Yes, my love?”_

_ “Are you frightened of tonight?” he asked, remembering the way Alex had paced the chamber that morning, checking himself as if expecting bruises or cuts to suddenly appear on his hands._

_ Kyle shot Michael an incredulous look, and Alex glanced at him after waving good afternoon to an elderly woman and her grandson. “Why ask such a thing?”_

_ “It just seems,” Michael said, “that if half the village is to suffer such a fate, it should not be frightening as it was when you had collapsed in the cottage. Do you remember that night?”_

_ Alex laughed, surprisingly Michael. “Of course I do, Michael. It happened again the previous month, unless _you’ve _forgotten?”_

_ “But you seem to dread it,” Michael pressed, as he always did, and as always, regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, for Alex’s smile dimmed slightly. “You know I am here to protect you for it, do you not? Surely, you must know that?”_

_ Alex’s expression softened. “I do. And you are right, I do dread it. But it is not because I fear it will hurt. I fear it _won’t_.”_

_ Michael frowned. “You _want_ to be hurt?”_

_ Alex said hello to a man and his wife and went on, “You must understand, Michael, that I have spent so long not feeling any pain at all. When the moon was hidden, I should have been weakened, but I could only be exhausted because of the curse.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I suppose I fear not to feel pain, for that would mean the curse has not left me. If I am weakened, then I am free.”_

_ “But you _are_ free, Alex.”_

_ Alex said nothing for a moment, then, slipping his hand into Michael’s, he said on an exhale, “I certainly hope so.”_

It was then that Michael had understood that Alex would not stop fearing his curse, not for a long time. It was not something that had come and gone and the prince was finished with it. He had lived several lifetimes with habits and concerns that would not break so easily. Michael was ready to face them with him, for there was more to life than curses and magic, and he felt hopeful, whenever Alex smiled at him, or kissed him, or notched an arrow, that his prince was beginning to realize that as well.

Even now as they entered the forest, the village people waking up behind them, some having bid their good morning to Kyle and even Michael, who they had come to adore far quicker than Michael could have anticipated, Alex carried a bow and quiver across his back, the arrows pointed up and shining in the sunlight.

Michael smirked. “My love.” Alex hummed. “Do you remember what your first promise to me was?”

Alex glanced over his shoulder as the three entered deeper into the forest, shaded by the tree branches, the path Michael had walked from the village to Alex’s cottage so often. He sighed. “Why remember that now?”

“Every time I see your arrows,” he gestured with his chin at the weapons, “I remember. I have never forgotten it.”

“I wish you would,” Alex said grimly. “I cannot bear the sound of my own voice when I think of those threats. How I could have ever dreamed of harming you, my beauty.”

“In your defense, Sire,” Kyle grumbled, “he was being fairly irritating.”

“That is true,” Alex conceded quickly, his voice unchanging. “You were relentless.” He took Michael’s fingers in his. “And I am so very glad you were,” he kissed Michael’s cheek, “for I would be dreadfully lost without you.”

“Bit of an overstatement, no?” Kyle said.

“No,” Alex and Michael said at once, and Michael’s heart warmed completely. He brought an arm around Alex’s waist for only a moment before Alex was stepping away, warning him of the arrows.

“An odd thing to mention now,” he said. “I have threatened you with far worse, have I not?”

“Yes, but that first was the only threat you followed through with,” he said, and Alex frowned. They stopped in a clearing, a clearing Michael knew all too well.

“Michael, I do not understand,” Alex said. “I have – do you remember the words?”

“As if you had spoken them only yesterday,” Michael grinned. “ _‘If you break our agreement, and you harm my friend in any way, my arrow will not pierce your fair face, but your heart.’ _Word for word, I believe.”

“ _‘Fair face?’_ You said his face was fair?” Kyle gaped. “This was when you first _met_ him?”

Alex flushed. “He was very attractive, I could not deny that – _at any rate_,” he added quickly at Kyle’s exasperated expression, “what do you mean I followed through with it? I never pierced your heart, Michael.”

“But you did,” Michael said, and he took Alex’s hand, pulling him close. “Just not with your arrows.” Alex blinked, his cheeks still red and his beautiful lips parted slightly in surprise. He wrapped an arm around the archer’s waist. “You pierced it when you beat me in battle and walked away. When you jumped off that ridiculous little boat to swim to the bottom of a freezing lake. When you confessed to me that you were cursed.”

“Michael –”

“When you told me you lusted for me, but wanted no more than that.”

“Stop it.”

“When you looked at me with anger and hatred, and told me I had doomed you forever. You pierced my heart when you walked away, and I believed you would never return to me.”

“_Please_,” Alex breathed, pressing his forehead to Michael’s shoulder. Michael’s arms wrapped around the archer’s body, holding him tightly. “Why talk of these things now? Of threats, and misery, and disappointment, and fear – _why_?”

“Because I know you are still terrified that you are cursed, that you will never be rid of it,” he whispered, and Alex looked up at him, his brows furrowed and… hopeful, for the first time in a _long _time. “I will no sooner tell you it is gone for I know it is not easy to believe. But just as one misery ended after another, just as one horrifying moment turned to one of joy and love, so shall this. This will pass, my archer. This curse, the darkness, the shadows, all of it – _it will pass_.”

Alex stared, and Michael had barely the time to acknowledge Kyle muttering, “That was bloody romantic. Damn,” before the archer surged forward and captured Michael’s lips in his, kissing him senseless. He had only a small moment to be startled before he melted into the press of their mouths, holding Alex tighter still, and Kyle, the trees, the villages on either side of them – all vanished completely. It was only him and his prince, the man warm under his touch, his muscles plant to his fingers, his lips wet and open and heated against his own.

Michael was only beginning to lead him against a tree when a voice burst into the clearing, and the two leapt apart.

“Took you all long enough!” Elias exclaimed. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

Kyle, Michael realized would be no help, was crossing his arms and leaning against a tree with his eyebrow raised at Michael as if to say, _Well? Explain to the boy._

“He was showing me his battle strategy,” Alex said, as composed as ever, and Michael might have believed him if his hair were not ruffled and his cheeks flushed. Pride swelled in the Viking’s chest. “Elias, do your parents know you are here?”

Elias’s face, as always, turned brighter when he spoke to Alex, “Yes, Your Majesty!” he said. “They had to prepare before the voyage tonight. I urged them not to go, but they said I did not understand.”

Michael noticed Alex glance at him and away. Michael had told Alex, weeks ago, that the Vikings would be setting sail on another voyage at the end of the month, and Michael would not be joining them. Neither, it seemed, would Elias.

“I see,” Alex said in that very regal tone he took when he was uncomfortable and did not want to show it. The brilliance of being at Alex’s side nearly every moment of every day was that Michael could learn all there was to know about the archer, all his little habits and anxieties.

Elias glanced at both Michael and Kyle, and leaned into Alex, whispering, “Your Majesty, do you remember when I told you about my friends and I? Our fight?”

Michael raised a brow, feigning ignorance, but Alex had told Michael of Elias’s secret meetings almost as soon as the boy had told _him_. Ever since Alex had saved Elias, the boy had been resolved to find the rightful heirs to the pendant he wore around his neck, and until then, he would use his life that had been spared to guard the borders separating Mirolet from the village of the Vikings.

“I will be different,” Elias had said. “I don’t know what yet, but my path _will_ be different.”

“You do realize you are very young, do you not?” Michael had said to his nephew.

Elias’s shoulders had slumped for only a moment before he took his gold pendant in hand, still dented, and said, “I cannot do much, I know, but I was told I have the makings of a great hero. Heroes don’t have to save too many people, just one. Think of how many I can save by guarding the borders! It is small, but for now, it will have to do.”

He had told his friends, those he trusted, of Alex and the kingdom – after the prince had allowed it. They had come to Mirolet, they had walked between the walls and learned of the history. Elias had even spent a night or two in one of the many large chambers, and longed to stay more, but Max and Liz missed their home too dearly. The children were a small band of four, but they had taken to Elias as their leader. They had decided to help the kingdom and the village, to save people instead of rule them. Alex never seemed proud, only exasperated, though Michael always caught a smile tugging at his lips. Deny it as he wished, he was fond of Elias, and Elias seemed no more deterred by Alex’s cool demeanor as Michael imagined he himself had been.

“We’ve been guarding the borders on the outskirts of the village, and there have been no shadow monsters.”

“I already told you, Elias,” Michael said. “The creatures are gone.”

“But you never know what _other_ creatures may be around!” He straightened. “And the sorcerers and sorceresses are weakened tonight, are they not? Because of the moon? We need to keep our guard.” Elias blinked. “Er – uncle, are you all right?”

Alex and Kyle turned to look at Michael, whose expression had changed. Elias was filled with such purpose, such kindness, such a _fire_ to protect, event those of magic. Michael knew he ought to be frustrated, to feel upset that Elias would turn his back on the traditions of their people, but he could only feel pride. He had long ago resigned to the effects of love on his character, though he could not have imagined it meant that anything which meant the safety of his lover would make his heart swell so.

Alex waved off Elias’s concern. “He is merely in awe of your courage.”

Elias blushed, but he smiled to himself, proud, before he nodded. “Well, I will need to get to sleep now if I am to stay awake tonight. Fear not, Your Majesty, no one will harm you as long as I stand!”

“My,” Alex muttered when Elias had gone back the path he had come. “What a strange child.”

“Certainly,” Kyle laughed fondly.

When Michael said nothing, Alex turned to him. His expression was of stone, but his eyes glittered almost fretfully. “Tell me, Michael. Are you… disappointed not to be going?”

Michael realized Alex was concerned of his answer, and instead of saying anything comforting, he said, “What?”

“Do you – that is,” Alex cleared his throat, “if there is any part of you that resents me for missing the upcoming voyage, I would like to know before tonight.”

He spoke of Michael resenting him with such a busy air, as if they were discussing his schedule for the evening. It was, Michael knew, Alex’s attempt to hide his fear for the answer. But then, was that not Alex? Rational and reasonable even when he did not want to be, for that was all he _knew_ to be? To hide how he felt, what he was, for fear of the condemnation, ridicule, and _resentment_ that would follow?

Michael’s shoulders fell, and he heaved a deep breath, terribly fond. “Goodness,” he looked to Kyle, “he is always like this, isn’t he?”

Kyle sighed, as if he had expected such words to come from Alex. “Only when he honestly cares what you think. _Damn_.”

As they made their way back through the path, Kyle and Alex having collected the herbs that would be used for medicinal potions later in the night, and Michael having gathered in a net over his shoulder the firewood that would be kept to protect everyone from fever, Michael found his free hand slipping into Alex’s.

Kyle walked on ahead of them, and Michael brought the archer’s fingers up to his lips to kiss. “My princely archer.”

“You are really settling me with that, aren’t you?”

“It suits you.” Alex hummed, seemingly lost in thought. “My love?”

“I am simply attempting to conjure a suitable name for _you_.”

Michael smirked and raised a brow. “Lover? Darling?”

Alex laughed. “Hang on, let me think,” but even as he said it, Michael could tell he already had one in mind.

“What is it?” he asked, nudging Alex who only laughed harder. The sound was like music, flooding Michael with warmth. “You have one! Tell me what it is!”

“Nothing, honestly, nothing, just – just something auntie told me,” Alex said, and brought Michael’s hand up to his jaw. He closed his eyes as he leaned into the Viking’s touch, then kissed his palm.

“I love you, my Viking,” he said, and Michael’s smirk fell away.

He stopped and pulled Alex in, kissing his lips softly. When he pulled back, he whispered, “I love you, my archer.”

Alex smiled against Michael’s lips before pulling Michael in to kiss again, as if any distance between himself and the Viking would be torturous.

Michael inhaled Alex’s scent, the two holding one another closely, their bodies pressed together. His arm around Alex’s waist tightened, the archer’s body pliant beneath his touch, his long lashes brushing Michael’s cheeks as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His cool, silver charm pecked Michael’s jaw as Alex held him close, here on this road that once stood between Alex’s world and Michael’s. It was good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://pastelwitchling.tumblr.com/)


	9. Bonus Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small moment between Alex and Michael that takes place during the events of the main story.

Michael looked across the fire at Alex, the archer’s elbows on his knees as he stared into the crackling flames. He stood.

“Do not,” Alex started, his eyes on the fire, though he held his hands tighter together. “Do not come near me, Viking.”

Michael frowned. “Why not?”

“I have many urgent matters to consider,” he said quite seriously. “I must concentrate.”

Michael felt a tug at the corner of his lips. “And I distract you, do I?”

“Something of the sort,” he said, unimpressed. “And wipe that smirk off your face.”

“Why?”

“It’s attractive,” Alex said, “thus terribly irritating.”

Michael scoffed, and despite Alex’s warnings to stay away, he placed himself down on the same log as the prince, attached to his side. “Have I ruined your focus yet?”

“You are forever a thorn in my side.”

“Forever, eh?” he said with a grin as he nuzzled Alex’s cheek, the archer attempting to move away from his touch.

“You know what I – _would you get off me_?!”

Alex attempted to stand, but Michael wrapped one arm around the archer’s shoulders, another around his waist, keeping him close. “You know as well as I that as soon as that hunter friend of yours –”

“—_Kyle_ –”

“—returns, you and I will have to separate. Though _why_ you insist on it is beyond me.”

“We are not having this conversation again.”

“At the very least, let me enjoy you _now_.”

“_Enjoy_ me? What am I, a strawberry?”

“You certainly taste better than one.”

“I – oh, honestly!” Alex had tried to use his speed and agility to move away, but Michael kept a firm hand on him, pressing kisses to his clothed shoulder, his collarbone, his neck.

“This is where your Viking’s strength finally comes in, is it?” he said, and Michael’s grin widened against Alex’s skin, for his voice was not so steady. “Makes sense, I suppose. You hardly seemed to use it in battle.”

Michael stopped his kissing, and pulled back enough to say, “Your abilities are, in quite a literal sense, _inhuman_. Your defeat of me means nothing.”

“Oh?” Alex blinked innocently. “But I thought you were the _favored_.”

Michael scoffed. “All right, _Your Majesty_, you want to see my _Viking’s strength_?”

In one swift push, Michael managed to pin Alex to the ground, holding his wrists up above his head with one hand, his other hand on the archer’s chest.

“Have it your way,” he said, his lips brushing Alex’s ear.

Alex gasped, squirming beneath him. “You really have gone mad. What _is_ it with you Vikings and your complete lack of self-control?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Michael said as he leisurely brought his hand down the archer’s chest, to his stomach, and pushed up Alex’s shirt. He sighed deeply as he felt the smooth expanse of skin, the toned muscles. Alex’s heart raced beneath his fingertips.

“If Kyle sees you –”

“What?” Michael rolled his eyes. “Pray tell, what will _Kyle_ do? Will he unleash a ball of fire powerful enough to scorch the entire forest? Will he send the oceans to flood the village? Or, dare I think it, tear the earth apart in his fatal wrath?”

“No, but I might just stab you through the back of the head,” Michael heard, and it took everything he had not to groan. The man’s timing. Impeccable.

Michael felt the tip of a dagger, Kyle’s dagger, scrape the back of his head. One strong push, and it would be enough to end Michael’s life. And it would have seemed threatening to any Viking… had that Viking not been Michael.

The dagger tipped further. “Get _off_ of him,” Kyle seethed, and Michael had half a mind to break the hunter’s arm. But then there was the expression on Alex’s face, the way he seemed both guilty and fond as he looked over Michael’s shoulder at his friend.

Michael sighed as he released the prince, and reluctantly stood, turning away from Alex to face Kyle instead.

“Are you all right?” Kyle asked Alex, his eyes on Michael, and the Viking scoffed humorlessly.

“_Must_ you speak as if I molested the man? You know he’s better than all right, and whether or not you choose to _accept_ it –”

Kyle stepped forward, as if abandoning the weapon for the favor of killing the Viking with his bare hands instead, and was stopped by Alex, his hand on his friend’s chest. “Kyle, enough.” He muttered something that only Kyle could hear, and before Michael could be angry about it, Kyle sent another glare at Michael, and turned around, returning to the cottage.

When they were alone, Michael shrugged. “I take it I am to leave?”

Alex crossed his arms. “I did warn you.”

_Blasted pest_, Michael wanted to say, though he knew the insult toward the hunter would not be welcomed by the archer. Michael stepped back, then towards Alex, then back again.

“Kiss me.” Alex blinked, surprised, and even Michael felt a warmth spread to his cheeks, but it was late at night, and he and Alex had been on the verge of doing a lot more than laying in the snow. “That is right, archer, or I will never go. I –”

But Michael never got to finish his sentence as he was cut off by Alex closing the distance between them, and kissing him passionately. He had Michael’s face in his hands, the press of his mouth desperate and heated and urgent. Their tongues battled, and Michael held Alex’s waist, pulling him closer, taking in what he could while he could take it. At the way Alex so helplessly clung to him, he knew he had not been the only one eager.

When they finally broke apart, Alex was already moving back towards the cottage, as if afraid of staying within arm’s length of Michael. Michael grinned.

He stepped back towards the forest himself, but before Alex was out of earshot, he called, “Archer! I will return for you tomorrow! Be prepared!”

“Away with you, you vile beast!” Kyle called back, pulling Alex inside with him and slamming the door shut.


End file.
